


ghosts that we knew

by wilsonsnest



Series: ghosts that we knew [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Artist Sam Wilson, Artist Steve Rogers, Falling In Love, M/M, Painting, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, communicating through notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 08:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilsonsnest/pseuds/wilsonsnest
Summary: Sam (reluctantly) agrees to do a commission for Steve's rich but extremely reclusive friend, James Barnes.Sam just stared at the other man, the feeling of being watched suddenly overcoming him.God, what kind of weirdo didn’t even come to greet their guests? It was one thing to be a rich recluse, but another thing to just completely ignore people wandering around your house.“Steve, this is really weird.” Sam stressed. “This isn’t weird to you?”





	1. hidden

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Sam-tember!!
> 
> I was wracking my brain to try and figure out something to celebrate Samtember with. Art was a little to heavy a commitment, so I figured I could do some writing. This an idea thats sort-of-kind-of been in development for a while? I really like the idea of a Sambucky sugar daddy AU, but could never quite figure out how to get there? And then I also had the idea for an art school AU and this is sort of the in between of both these ideas. It's got a little Phantom of the Opera and a little bit of Jane Eyre, but a little more contained and not as angsty as either of those.
> 
> Some quick background info:  
1\. Sam is 28, currently works as a cashier and occasional dog walker. He took Steve's painting course at a local college for two semesters. Now Steve lets him use the studio for a few hours every week to work on his art.  
2\. Steve is 40, a Fine Arts Professor, teaches at two nearby colleges. He spends a lot of time volunteering when he has time.  
3\. Bucky is 40, doesn't really get out much but appreciates art.

This was it, this was the last time Sam Wilson was _ever_ doing a favor Steve Rogers. Sure, he’d told himself that many times before, but this time? He was sticking to his word. The next time Steve turned those big blue eyes on him, did that apologetic eyebrow thing and started with ‘Hey, Sam..’ he was flat out Refusing. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

Because if he didn’t start saying no he was going to end up in an honest-to-god slasher movie, and he knew exactly how that would play out.

Considering the place he now found himself, this might just be it. Steve had given him the address to the house and told him he would meet Sam there around 2pm. It was 2:15 and Sam had been waiting outside the house for about twenty minutes. He looked like a weirdo, standing in front of the wrought iron gate and tall, foreboding hedges, but he’d be damned if he was ringing the doorbell.

The place was _creepy_ as all hell. 

Sam sighed and turned away from the road to eye the property. It was a fairly large piece of land, though just how large was impossible to tell. Other than the entrance gate, the entire perimeter was surrounding by hedges, easily over ten feet and hiding most of the house from outside view. Through the bars of the gate, Sam could see some of the house - a huge place, made of gray stone. It looked nice enough, he supposed, if it weren’t for the fact that someone had obviously gone through a lot of effort to keep anyone from seeing it existed.

Sam hunched his shoulders and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. 2:20pm. No amount of money was worth this, and Sam _needed_ the money even. Biting his lip, he scrolled to the uber app, and hovered his thumb over it. He felt sort of bad about ditching, but Steve hadn’t shown and the place was giving him Bad Vibes.

Just as he had clicked on the app, he heard the roar of a motorcycle engine in the distance. Sam looked up, and nearly cursed as he saw Steve’s bike heading toward him. Just his luck, he almost had an out, but Steve showed up just before he could skip out. Sam wondered if that was just a general Professor thing to do or particularly a _Steve_ thing.

Sam scowled as Steve parked in front of him, folding his arms across his chest trying to look as disapproving as possible. It was completely unfair just how non-ruffled Steve looked taking off his helmet, his hair somehow looking like a _fashion_ statement rather than helmet hair. But that was basically Steve’s MO. Despite dressing like someone’s Grandad, he still managed to radiate a mix of wholesome and hot that no forty year old should be allowed to.

Sam thanked _god_ that he had gotten his crush on the older man out of the way about six classes in. 

“I am _so_ sorry I’m late Sam.” Steve said immediately, grimacing as he checked the time on his watch. Because _of course_ he wore a wrist watch. “A few of the kids had questions after and—“

“You didn’t want to just leave them hanging, I know, I know.” Sam rolled his eyes, but his shoulders relaxed a fraction. When Steve wasn’t teaching art classes, he was volunteering with underprivileged youth. Steve’s wholesomeness wasn’t just an act, it was something he wholeheartedly believed it.

It was also the reason he they were here standing in front of Mansion du Dracula right now.

“You could have warned me that your friend lived at a haunted house.” Sam moved back and watched as Steve took out a key and unlocked the gate. The blonde motioned for Sam to head inside before him before locking it again.

“Haunted house?” Steve sounded amused and he looked over at Sam, eyes twinkling a little. “It’s not _that_ bad.”

Sam looked around, and even he had to admit it wasn’t nearly as intimidating inside. The lawn was well-kept and lush, though there wasn’t anything in the way of decoration. Only the stone path that led up to the large double doors cut through the almost eerily perfect lawn. As they approached the house, Sam could see that all of the windows were drawn closed with dark red curtains, not the most reassuring of signs.

“Someone lives here?” Sam muttered, mostly to himself, slowing down as Steve marched toward the door.

“He doesn’t get a lot of company.” Steve said so soft Sam almost didn’t hear him. 

Sam raised an eyebrow as Steve rung the doorbell twice, before using another key to unlock the door. He hesitated, before following after, his heart hammering in his chest as he went through the entrance way.

And what he found was…_nice._

They entered a large foyer and it was just nice. Nice in the way that historical houses are nice. There was a side table and mirror against one of the walls, and even a row of coat hooks near the door. But there was nothing else. No personal items, no shoes or magazines or even _mail._ The place was spotless, it could have very well been a museum.

“So is this like a vacation home?” 

Steve looked at him a little funny and then shook his head. “No, he just likes to keep things clean.”

Then Steve motioned for Sam to follow him through the strangely spotless house. 

Sam hadn’t really asked a lot of questions before agreeing to do this job. All Steve had said was that he had shown his friend _James_ some of Sam’s paintings and _James_ had expressed interest in having Sam paint something for him. Originally Steve had asked if Sam wanted to just paint a whole wall, but Sam had refused. Terrified that he would mess up someone’s _actual_ house. Steve eventually came back with a compromise of just a large canvas, fifteen feet long and nine feet high. It was daunting, and Sam had _almost_ refused until Steve told him how much he would be making.

It was a lot of money.

After leaving the Air Force, Sam hadn’t had many prospects. When he was younger, he had dreamed of being Veterinarian and maybe opening his own clinic. But coming back to civilian life had been harder than he had thought, and he lost so much time just trying to figure out who he was supposed to be. He stayed with his Mom for a year until he started getting himself backtogether. Going to meetings with other veterans, finding a job and saving up. He’d eventually moved out, found a tiny studio to call his own and started thinking about his long term goals.

Steve’s painting course has been his first tentative step into seeing if maybe he could go back to school. He’d bee rather fond of painting in High School, and took art electives every year, though he had never considered it as a serious career. A painting class seemed like the perfect way to ease back into the idea of school again, though he hadn’t anticipated meeting _Steve Rogers_ and how that would impact his life.

It was Steve’s utter belief in Sam’s abilities that had brought him to this place right now.

“Here we are.” Steve opened a door and ushered Sam into a large room. It was painted the same off-white as the rest of the house, though was a large bay window that filled the room with gorgeous natural light. It showed a view of the backyard, just as well-manicured and plain as the front. Not even a bird-bath in sight.

The room was already covered in plastic, the massive canvas was leaning up against the far wall, looking like it had been primed already. Off to the side were a generous variety of supplies, more than Sam probably would have picked out for himself. Sam gripped the straps of his backpack, suddenly feeling overwhelmed in the face of everything and turned to look at Steve.

“I don’t know if I can do this, man.” He said honestly. “You really think my weird ass painting fits into….” He waved a hand around the pristine space. “This?”

Steve’s brow furrowed almost adorably, like he didn’t understand what Sam was implying. “Sam, your paintings aren’t weird. They’re beautiful.” There was a slight admonishing tone that Steve got whenever Sam said something self deprecating about his art. “Trust me, Sam, he was blown away.”

Steve blinked suddenly and stuck his hand in the pocket of his brown leather jacket and pulled out his phone. He squinted a little, in a way that reminded Sam of a much older person before texting someone. A soft smile spread across his lips before he tucked his phone away and looked at Sam again.

“I let him know we were here. He says he won’t bother you and you're welcome to anything you need.” Steve relayed cheerfully. 

Sam stiffened immediately and his eyes darted around before landing on Steve. “He’s _here?”_

“Uh, yeah..” Steve reached up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t mention? He doesn’t really get out much.”

Sam just stared at the other man, the feeling of being watched suddenly overcoming him. _God_, what kind of weirdo didn’t even come to greet their guests? It was one thing to be a rich recluse, but another thing to just completely ignore people wandering around your house.

“Steve, this is _really_ weird.” Sam stressed. “This isn’t weird to you?”

Steve looked at him, face unreadable before he sighed and walked over the large bay window. He stopped, not sitting on the gray cushioned seat, only peering out the window into the backyard. He was quiet, and still for a while and Sam nearly felt bad about putting it so bluntly. He was still talking about Steve’s friend after all.

“Bucky… James.” Steve corrected himself, a sigh in his voice. “He had an accident, a few years ago. And its… just hard for him to meet people. He gets anxious.” Steve turned to look at him. His eyes practically pleading with Sam to understand. “Your paintings. Sam, they got him so _excited_ for the first time in a long time. He would ask me every week if you’d done anything new. They really mean something to him.”

Sam bit his lip and ducked his head. He had his own hang-ups about his art. It was different from what normal people considered ‘good art’ and even the other full-time art students had been a little confused by Sam’s paintings. It didn’t help that he hated trying to explain where it came from, and hearing that someone else really liked them, well… It was nice.

“Okay.” Sam breathed out, a little shaky. “Jeez, you know how to guilt trip someone. I’ll do it.”

Steve smiled at him, tender and grateful. He walked back over to Sam, and began to reach out for a hug, stopping when he saw Sam stiffen and instead clasped his hands together. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Uh huh.” Sam slung his backpack off his shoulders and onto the floor. “Get out of here so I can get started.”

Steve nodded eagerly. “Do you need a ride home after?”

“I’ll get an uber, didn’t cost that much.” Sam waved him off. This job was more than paying off the cost of ride-sharing here and back. “Do I need to lock up or anything before I leave?”

“No, he’ll take care of it.” Steve assured him. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Thank Sam, really, you have no idea how much this means to me. I can’t wait to see what you create.”


	2. signed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ Sam considered Steve for a moment before dipping his paintbrush into a medium gray and painting a block of color. Somehow, he doubted that James liked the idea of anyone in his house at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad so many of you are ready to take this journey with me. It sort of hit me yesterday what I had committed too, and its a little bit daunting. 
> 
> Un-beta'd, as most of this fic will be with how fast I'll be updating.
> 
> I try to describe Sam's painting as best as possible in this chapter. If you look up futurism, and then put everything into gray-scale and make it non-representational, thats basically it. I'm personally a big fan of futurism myself, its an easy to understand but really unique art style.

Sam easily spent the first hour inspecting the supplies that had been purchased for him. He supposed Steve was familiar enough with his work that the other man would know exactly what materials he would need. And what he found didn’t disappoint. Huge quantities of gesso, tubs of black and white paints, a myriad of bowls and dowels for mixing paint and buckets presumably for water. The variety of paint brushes was near overwhelming. Small detail brushes, larger area brushes, even large paint rollers that would be useful for blocking out colors. Other than the obvious, he was also treated to a generous step-ladder and a new navy blue apron with a multitude of pockets.

After taking in the supplies, Sam grabbed his backpack and stepped back to the middle of the room. Taking out his sketchbook, he turned through the pages of the ideas he had come up with for this particular project. Steve hadn’t given him any specific instructions, other than that James just wanted the painting to be very large. Sam generally painted on canvas’ that were 36 inches or smaller, mostly for affordability sake. 

Looking at the space in front of him. It was a lot.

Sam bit his lip, turning back to the third sketch he had done. It was the one he had worked on the most, and was the best realized. It was done in pencil, not his preferred medium, but it was less mess than chalk pastel. The lines and sheets of gray were rigid, building on one another across the page, heading upwards and growing with each larger gray panel. The very center of the overlapping rectangles were white, something he didn’t do very often. They seemed to gleam, the shine of something new and bright among the dark grays and blacks. Behind the main squares of movement, were gray triangle points, straight and unbending like mountains. The contrast of their straight rigidity to the movement of the mechanical gray panels made him frown. Were they too static? He could always just add another repeating trail of squares in the background. But no, those straight triangles seemed important to the composition somehow. 

Sam discovered early on in Steve’s class that he preferred working in grayscale. At first, he tried to move away from it, a little concerned that he was just taking the easy way out. And while his color paintings were nice, they didn’t evoke the same intensity that his black and white work did. ‘_Your grasp of light and shadow is unprecedented.’_ Steve had sounded genuinely awed. _‘It’s not that you can’t do this in color, it’s just that it isn’t the best showcase of your skill.’_

Sam had thought it was odd that Steve encouraged him to keep experimenting with gray scale instead of trying to break him out of his comfort zone. But Steve was not one to force students to do what _he_ thought was correct. He encouraged people’s natural skill and curiosity, wanting them to improve on what they were passionate about. Sam’s greyscale non-representational Futurism-esque works should not have worked, but for some reason Steve was convinced that they _did._

Sam gently tore the page from his sketchbook and sat it down in front of the canvas. Usually, he could begin painting, but not this time. He would do a light sketch, so that he could at least figure out where to start on such a large canvas and then maybe next time he would be ready to get started with painting.

Sam spent the next few hours sketching out his idea. It took much longer than he had anticipated, but between moving up and down the ladder, walking around the observe from different angles, drawing and erasing and redrawing - it was starting to get dark by time he was satisfied.

His stomach rolled a little anxiously, seeing the sharp outlines of the triangles, hidden in the background behind the overlapping rectangular shapes for the foreground. They had a slight slope to them, starting off wide and then curving inward and ending at a neat point. They were level, static and made him feel uncomfortable. He supposed that was the point of them, after all.

Still, he was happy with he had accomplished and quickly packed his pencils and sketchbook away in his backpack. He neatly folded the step ladder and put it to the side, checking to make sure he had left nothing else out of order. It was only when he went to leave the room, did the weird feeling of being in the same house as someone who he’d never seen overtake him. James was somewhere in this big house, knowing Sam was down there and hadn’t made a sound. Sam wondered if he was ill and confined to a certain part of the house. It didn’t seem like anyone even used the house other than to keep it immaculately clean.

Sam felt the need to keep quiet as he headed down the halls to the front door. The back of his neck prickled, like there were eyes on him, watching from the walls and he found himself hurrying to get out. Sam didn’t feel like he could breath properly until he was on the sidewalk, the house hidden by the huge hedges and gate. For all that he had enjoyed losing himself in his art, the reality of being in that house had crashed onto him like a freezing wave. Next time, Steve wouldn’t even be there to give him a sense of false sense of security.

x x x x

He didn’t get a chance to talk to Steve until later the next week. Sam stopped by his office around 8pm on Wednesday, not having a shift until later the next evening. Steve was typing away at his laptop, even with his glasses on he still squinted at the screen. Sam watched him for only a moment from the doorway before knocking to announce his presence.

Steve looked up a little glazed over before he had smiled and waved at Sam, telling him to go ahead to studio and that he would catch up after answering a few emails. 

The studio smelled like paint and turpentine, and to someone else it might have been overwhelming, but it brought Sam comfort. It reminded him of his youth, before things got complicated and confusing. He wasn’t even thirty yet, but there were days when he felt much older.

He went to the cubbies and pulled out one of the canvases he had started working on three weeks ago. He had gotten stuck, but after doing some sketches over the weekend he was feeling ready to try again. He quickly got out the rest of his supplies and set up one of the easels near the middle of the room.

Sam had already gotten started by time Steve entered, and he only glanced up quickly when the older man approached. The painting was changing, morphing into something different then what he had started with. The sharp edges of the rectangles suddenly more like diamonds. Like the pointed shapes in the commission he was ardently trying to avoid thinking about.

“How was your weekend?” Steve asked casually, pulling up a stool nearby. He took off his glasses as he observed the canvas, sharp eyes flickering over the monochrome colors.

“Fine.” Sam answered shortly before grimacing. “I only got around to doing the sketch.”

Steve nodded slowly, his focus still on Sam’s painting. “That’s fine. It’s an important step.”

“I don’t usually do it though.” Sam said, biting his lip. “I don’t want to seem like I’m wasting time.”

“_Sam_, its a commission.” Steve finally looked at him, his gaze soft. “Your making art for a client, but its still your art. You know it isn’t always straightforward.”

Sam nodded, though he privately thought it was more complicated than that. In the Air Force he had strict orders, strict mission perimeters. Everything was measured precisely, everything had a rule, a place to be a position to hold. Even working the register at Target had specific instructions for what to do and not do in certain situations. This job was completely different. His client wanted him to make what _Sam_ wanted to make. At least he assumed, he hadn’t met the guy.

Steve seemed to sense his unease and tapped his fingers idly on his thigh before saying. “He wanted me to ask you if you needed anything. If what he ordered was alright.”

Sam looked at him, surprised. “I kind of assumed you had bought that stuff.”

Steve shook his head. “I gave him a list, but then he had it delivered. I think he ordered more stuff than I told him to.”

“It’s perfect.” Sam answered truthfully. “Uh, I do need to know where to fill up the water buckets.” Sam thought of the pristine house, and almost blanched at the idea of getting paint and stains on anything expensive.

“The bathroom probably…” Steve saw the look on Sam’s face and chuckled good-naturedly. “I’ll ask and text you, alright? Sam I swear he’s happy to have you there.”

Sam considered Steve for a moment before dipping his paintbrush into a medium gray and painting a block of color. Somehow, he doubted that James liked the idea of anyone in his house at all.

x x x x

That Saturday, Sam woke up bright and early. He had a dog walking appointment that morning, and figured the best use of his time would just be to go straight from that job to the commission. If he took Scooter and Stella for a slightly longer walk than usual, the two Cocker Spaniels certainly didn’t seem to mind and they helped take Sam’s mind off of going to the house in a few hours.

Eventually though, he couldn’t avoid it any longer. After giving the dogs a farewell treat, he caught a ride over to the mansion, trepidation settling in his belly once he found himself standing in front of the gates again. Steve had texted him the night before that he was free to use the bathroom or kitchen for water, and that the doors would be open for him when he arrived. Just as promised, the gate opened, so quietly that Sam guessed that just like everything else it was obsessively cared for.

He made his way up the path, fighting off the feeling of deja vu. It was so barren and quiet, but obviously well-kept. It would have seemed inviting if only for the lack of any personality. It was like James wanted people to think it was inhabited, but not by anyone of any importance.or interest.

He paused at the door, remembering that Steve and rung it beforehand, probably to signal to James that someone had arrived. Deciding to be considerate, Sam rung the doorbell, waiting a few seconds before letting himself in.

Things were just like last week, nothing had moved or been added since he had left. It truly was like walking through a museum. He walked the halls quietly, observing the occasional generic flower or landscape paintings on the walls. He was surprised that he hadn’t seen any of Steve’s work, but if he and James were friends maybe it was in a place of more prominence than just a hallway.

Once he reached the room, he startled to see something taped to the door. With trembling fingers, he lifted the small, lined paper and read it.

_‘Feel free to use bath or kitchen sink._

_Help yourself to anything._

_Thank you - J’_

The handwriting was neat, but quick, like he had been in a hurry to write it. Sam stared at the short note, reading it over again before flipping it to see if there was anything else. He scanned the lines like they might give him some sort of insight into what James was like at all. The only thing that was clear was that he had obviously come downstairs at some point, meaning he wasn’t ill enough to be confined to bed all the time. Somehow that was both a relief and a concern.

Sam was once again hyperaware that he was alone in a strange man’s house, not exactly close to the city center. Steve didn’t seem like the sort to befriend serial killers, but then again not many people thought they had befriended serial killers until the person got caught.

With that morbid thought, Sam went into the room, half-expecting to see something had been changed. To his surprise, everything was just as he had left it. If James had come in the room, he hadn’t touched anything at all. Interesting.

Deciding not to dwell too much, Sam immediately put his bag down on the window seat and went to grab one of the buckets to fill up with water from the bathroom. The sooner he got to work, the sooner he could leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The elusive Bucky appears in the form of a note. I guess you sort of have a hint for how this is going to progress from now on. I do have to say, that I have a lot of ideas for this fic going forward and I'm super excited to share them with you! 
> 
> I will say though, head that Slow Burn tag. When I use it, I mean it.
> 
> Comments & Kudos are appreciated!


	3. living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ But while he was here, for just a moment, he could pretend that this space, this time was his alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 of Samtember, and we're still off to a strong start.
> 
> We've got more of Sam painting, some day-to-day life and a peak into Sam's psyche and what he really thinks of this whole art thing. Also, boys leaving notes like they're in high school and are too embarrassed to talk to each other. It's cute, I promise.

It wasn’t until his phone rang around 4:30 that Sam had realized just how long he had been engrossed in painting. The large canvas was a challenge, but an exciting one that demanded all of Sam’s mental energy. It was easy to put on a playlist and dive right into blocking out the base shapes with the right shades of gray. He had found the paint roller extremely helpful in that regard, something he assumed James had put on the list himself.

Sam was able to pull himself away enough by the final ring and he answered the phone with a somewhat rushed ‘_Yeah?’ _Not bothering to check and see who it was on the other end. Luckily it wasn’t his Mother or Manager or anything like that. It was just Steve, calling to check on his progress.

“You were able to get in alright?” Steve asked, he sounded like he was outside, probably having just left the Rec center.

“Oh yeah, everything was open.” Sam answered, wiping his hands on his pants and walking backwards away from the canvas so he could look at the full image. “I’ve been here since 12.”

“Really?” Steve sounded genuinely surprised. “You heading out soon?”

“Mmm.” Sam tilted his head, observing. His fingers itched to start filling in the dark grays and blacks. “Maybe in a little bit.”

“Sam, this doesn’t have to be done right now. Commissions usually take a while an—“

“I know, Steve, I know.” Sam cut him off before his friend could launch in a rant. “I don’t feel _pressured_ or whatever. it’s just…” He glanced over his shoulder at the backyard. The sky was a little gray, but the sun was still shining pleasantly through the windows. The room was beautiful and Sam loved working in the natural light. “It’s nice. It’s peaceful.”

Steve was silent on the other end of the phone and Sam winced. That must have sounded weird, especially after all the complaining Sam had done about coming here. Somehow, once he had started painting, all of the situational strangeness faded away. It was just him, his paintbrush and the warmth of the sun. His cramped studio apartment was cluttered with his personal effects, there was no room to paint. And Steve’s studio was a temporary home, the property of the students who actually paid to go there and where Sam was lucky enough to be allowed space. 

But while he was here, for just a moment, he could pretend that this space, this _time_ was his alone.

“That’s good, Sam.” Steve’s voice was gentle. “Sam— Y’know, there are scholarships, grants..”

“Steve, not this again, please.” Sam closed his eyes. “Please.”

There was another long pause at the end of the line and Sam’s chest constricted almost painfully. Steve had tried to convince Sam that art might truly be his calling. That he should apply for grants, start submitting work to galleries and delving into the art world. Sam had balked at the idea. He had barely started considering himself an artist, and couldn’t even rationalize his own particular style. He didn’t think anyone else would find it worthwhile, and he was sure Steve was the exception.

Until James that is.

Of course James was a rich recluse who let strangers wander around his home, so his opinion probably wasn’t worth much to the art world either. No, art was not what Sam was meant to be doing. It was just something he enjoyed, something that helped center him and that was it. It didn’t need to be more, it couldn’t be more.

“Well, let me know if you need anything.” Steve couldn’t quite hide the disappointment in his voice.

“I will.” Sam assured him, wanting to soothe the awkwardness between them. Despite Steve’s overeagerness, Sam still appreciated all he had done for him. For a moment, he considered telling Steve about the note, but decided it against it. He didn’t want James to think he was reporting back to Steve or anything like that. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Of course. Bye, Sam.”

x x x x 

Sam continued to work a little while longer, but the natural light was fading quicker than he could get his ideas down on canvas. It was a little frustrating, but the notion of painting under fluorescent lights felt dishonest to this painting for some reason. As the sky turned red, Sam began to clean up. He piled the bowls and paintbrushes into a bucket and carried it through the halls to the bathroom.

Just like every other room, this one was neat but impersonal, like a hotel bathroom. There was hand soap on the sink, an air freshener on the back of the toilet and a hand towel hanging nearby. Other that? No body towels, no wash clothes, no toothbrush.

Sam sat on the edge of the bathtub, getting to work pouring out the dirty water and rinsing off his supplies. He tried not to think about the stains he might leave on the pristine white bathtub and wondered if he ought to bring cleaning supplies next time. Then he wondered if James would even notice, considering the entire bottom floor seemed to be completely uninhabited. 

He finished cleaning and dropped the supplies back into the bucket, frowning at the discolored water clinging to the sides of the tub. He glanced around, but didn’t want to use the nice hand towel to clean it up. Biting his lip, Sam tried to rinse the tub out one more time before deciding to leave it be.

Once he headed back and put the supplies away neatly, he gathered his backpack and started toward the door. Oddly enough, he felt sort of melancholy to be leaving like this. He wouldn’t be back for another six days, and the realization of how much he was enjoying himself suddenly struck him.

He paused just outside of the room, remembering the note that James had stuck to the door for him. It had been a little thing, but it showed that James was willing to communicate with him in some way. Before he could change his mind, Sam pulled his sketchbook out of his backpack. He flipped the back and carefully ripped off half the paper. With a pencil, he scrawled a quick note.

‘_Started painting today, let me or Steve know if you have any feedback. I used your bathroom to wash out the paint, sorry if anything stains, I’ll try to be cleaner next time. _

_\- Sam_

_Ps. Buying paint rollers was a great idea.’_

Sam dug out some stray painter’s tape and used a bit to attach the note to the door. He read his note over again, a little self-conscious before deciding there wasn’t much else he could say. He considered leaving his number as well, but figured if this guy really wanted to talk to Sam one-to-one he would have just asked Steve. 

Leaving it at that, Sam ordered his uber and headed outside. The rush of relief he had felt last time he had passed through the gate was mysteriously missing.

x x x x

Unlike before, Sam found himself thinking about his commission often throughout the week. Now that he had begun painting, the desire to see the image appear on canvas overtook any other common sense he might have had about the realities of what he was doing. He tried to rationalize it to himself, people often hired contractors to do work on their homes when they weren’t around. But that was just the _thing, _James was around and he refused to show his face.

Steve had said that James was anxious around people, and Sam totally got that. But it was his home, and he was paying Sam, he had the upper-hand in the situation. Surely he could at least greet Sam at the door before disappearing off to wherever he hid when Sam was around.

He found himself lost in these thoughts again at work, leaning onto the cash register when he really shouldn’t have been. There was about an hour before store closing, the calm before the storm of harried people buying overpriced necessities made their way to the register 2 minutes before closing. 

Sam was so spaced out that he didn’t even notice Scott standing next to him until the other man loudly cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh, you okay there, Sammy?”

Sam turned to look at Scott, simultaneously annoyed by the nickname and touched by his concern. Scott was a few years older than him, an ex-con and possibly the nicest person Sam had ever met. He gave Steve Rogers a run for his money, and that man was wholesomeness personified. He had no idea what Scott could have possibly done to get himself in trouble. He was easy-going, friendly if a little air-headed, and absolutely adored his daughter.

“I’m good Scott, just tired.” Sam smiled wanly, straightening up and wincing a the uncomfortable kinks in his back. “Sorry, did you need something?”

“Just doing the returns.” Scott answered cheerfully, indicating the tub on his hip. He laughed a little when Sam raised an eyebrow. “I had to do _something_ or I was gonna fall asleep organizing the baby food aisle.”

Sam nodded and grabbed the few items from underneath register and dumped them into the tub. He glanced around the store, there was one woman with a basket idly staring at shirts on the sales rack. 

“How many people do we have left?” Sam asked.

“Last count was eighteen.” Just as Scott answered, the sound of the automatic doors caused them both two turn. A harried looking young woman with messy hair and a rumpled sweatshirt hurried into the store. “Make that nineteen.”

Sam let out a long sigh, it could have been much worse. Luckily it was a weekday, he had heard horror stories about the weekend wanderers who had nothing better to do than shop late into the night.

“Hey, Sammy.” There was an odd hesitance in Scott’s voice. “Can I ask you a huge favor?”

Sam furrowed his brow but nodded none the less for Scott to continue.

“Do you think, _and don’t feel pressured to agree_, do you think there is anyway you could cover my shift Friday night?” Scott must have seen Sam’s expression and he bit his lip already apologetic for having to ask. “Cassie’s talent show is that night and I completely forgot. I know its last minute, but I promised her I’d be there.”

And God, that just about did Sam in. He knew Scott had a rough time making things right enough with his ex-wife to prove he was stable enough to be around Cassie. There would be days when Scott had come in devastated because he hadn’t been able to do something important, or missed out on something special because of his circumstances. But he tried, and Sam wasn’t going to be the one who caused Scott to let his daughter down.

Sam liked his Friday nights off, but what was one week? He would just have to power through the next day and not stay too long at James’ house Saturday night.

“Sure, man, I got you.” Sam assured him, waving it off. The relief on Scott’s face was enough to make him smile. “It’s just a Friday night, it won’t be so bad.”

x x x x 

Of course, Friday was an absolute nightmare. 

It was like all the stars had aligned and every thing that could go wrong, did go wrong. It had started when Sam had arrived to find out two people had called out sick, so they were understaffed for the night. And then the roves of people that just would _not stop coming_ even as the clock ticked ever closer to 11pm. Coupons, missing price tags, torn packages - you name it and Sam had to deal with it that night. It was easily near 12pm by time they had checked out everyone in the store, done the returns, straightened the shelves and then clocked out for the night.

Sam didn’t even shower when he got home, he just shucked out of his work clothes and collapsed on his bed. 

Nothing hit quite like an alarm after barely getting a decent night’s sleep. But he dutifully climbed out of bed, sleepwalking through his morning routine before making it over to his dog-walking appointment. He was lucky Scooter and Stella were good dogs because they had to practically walk him.

Sam felt exhausted by time he found himself in front of James’ house. He couldn’t even bring himself to be bothered by the weirdness of the house, pushing through the gate so casually it almost seemed like he was used to it. Sam was sort of glad everything looked the same, he wasn’t sure he was awake enough to deal with something out of the ordinary. If a row of pink flamingo lawn decorations had suddenly appeared, Sam might have thought he had started hallucinating.

Once he had made it through the halls to the room, he startled a little at the paper taped to the door. Confusion hit him first, before he remembered leaving his own note last week. Sam carefully pulled up the note, leaning a shoulder against the door to read it. It was slightly longer than the first one he had received.

_‘Don’t want to disturb your work._

_Please, don’t worry about cleaning up._

_The kitchen has coffee or tea, whatever you prefer._

_Help yourself to anything._

_\- J_

_Do you need more supplies?’_

Sam blinked, surprised at the first line. He had sort of assumed that James would have been checking in on his progress after Sam left. It was sort of… sweet, that he didn’t want to disturb Sam, even if it was his house and his art. Something warm settled in Sam’s chest, as he re-read the lines again. 

He could now recognize it as almost… eager to make Sam feel comfortable. Emphasizing that Sam should help himself to refreshments if he desired. Sam had only taken a peek into the modern looking kitchen, before deciding he hadn’t wanted to mess around with any of the expensive looking electronics. But he was exhausted, his body was practically begging for caffeine. 

Tucking the note into his pocket, Sam entered the room and dropped his bag off by the window. He glanced over at the canvas, taking in what he had done so far. There was still a lot of white space to fill in, but he needed to be careful when layering his darker colors. With a small smile, Sam headed out to find the kitchen, feeling a little more welcome in the quiet house already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Communication has started, contact has been made!
> 
> Also this might be secretly turning into a Not-Coffeshop AU in the future. Trust me, you'll see.


	4. lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A chill ran through Sam’s body and he swallowed thickly. Right, this was someone else’s house. Someone he had never met, despite their cordial door-note correspondence. The idea that someone had been walking around without Sam noticing made him dizzy and for a moment, he considered not even bothering with a note and just leaving as quickly as possible._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a pretty good week in this chapter. I know the burn is real, but I swear your world will shake when the happening happens.
> 
> Un-beta'd as usual for day 4!

James had apparently been serious about Sam helping himself. Someone had set out a Keurig and electric kettle in the kitchen. A carefully placed mug and selection of k-cups and tea were arranged neatly on the counter. Other than that, the kitchen was barren, not even a stray magnet or post-it note on the fridge. Sam made himself a cup of coffee, before leaving everything as neat as he could find it and heading back to his painting.

Sam worked quietly for a while, his tiredness giving way to the excitement of creating. He managed a good few hours of uninterrupted work, before he absentminded reached over to dip his paintbrush in the bucket of water, not realizing he was still on the third step of the metal step ladder. Nearly falling knocked him back to reality, and he realized he was getting dangerously tired as the day went on. Despite wanting to keep working, he knew it would be better in the long run to take a break. 

He didn’t want to risk messing up the painting, or his neck.

After carefully climbing down, he checked the time. 3:30pm, much earlier than he usually left. As he went about his cleaning routine, he couldn’t help but feel guilty about not staying as long as usual. He resolved to make it up the next time he came, and stay a little later if need be. After washing out his supplies, and straightening up the room he took the mug back to the kitchen. Rinsing it out in the sink, he belatedly realized there was no soap or sponges available. He did the best he could using his hands before leaving it to soak in hot water.

Once he grabbed his backpack, there was only one thing left to do. He ripped out another small square of paper and pencil to write a quick note.

_‘Sorry for leaving so early, I had a long night at work (retail is a pain). I promise I’ll make up the hours next week.I’m good on supplies right now. Thanks for the coffee, I really needed it. I couldn’t find any soap to wash the mug though.’_

He started to sign his name, then a thought occurred to him, with a smile he added.

‘_Same time next week - Sam’_

x x x x

Sam’s week was fairly mundane. He worked, he visited Steve at the studio, he even let Sharon drag him out for $5 appetizers and Happy Hour on Tuesday. But he did spend a lot of time itching to get back to painting. It had become an obsession, and each week as more of the painting became realized, the more he wanted to work on it. Not only that, but it was probably the most peace Sam got during the week. He lived in the city, worked in the city, his whole life was color, and noise and intensity that never seemed to stop until he closed his eyes at night. Going to James’ quiet little residence and painting his monochrome musings put him at ease in a way he never would have anticipated at the beginning of this endeavor.

He couldn’t help but wonder about James as well. He seemed kind enough, from the way he wrote his notes. Sam was doing a job for him, but he seemed interesting in making sure Sam was comfortable. It probably meant that he understood just how odd the situation was, and that made him seem a little more tangibly human. 

He had tried not to pry, avoiding asking Steve questions about his friend. Though privately he was quite curious. Steve was naturally outgoing, he liked exploring and meeting new people. How he had managed to become friends with someone who never left their house was beyond Sam. That and he didn’t at all seem worried about the behavior. He was much more likely to call Sam out on skipping meals than his friend for never showing his face when people were around. 

Still, when Saturday rolled around Sam was eager to get to the house. He tried not to rush Scooter and Stella through their walk, but found himself easily distracted the entire time. He was impatient in the uber, unable to settle until he found himself at the iron gate again. This time, the sigh of relief left him when he entered, the manicured lawn more welcoming than he ever imagined it would be.

Just like always, nothing have moved or changed and this time Sam moved eagerly to the room. He couldn’t help the slight giddy leap his stomach did seeing a note taped to the door. With a fond smile, he pulled the note off and read it.

_‘Don’t worry about cleaning._

_Really. It’s fine.’_

Sam’s eyebrows raised, the first indication of any sort of personality besides politeness. He tried to imagine what James would sound like. Fondly exasperated? Annoyed? 

‘_Don’t push yourself._

_Theres no timeframe to finish._

_Work at your own pace, Sam._

_\- J_

_What kind of coffee do you prefer?’_

He got started painting with warmth in his chest, unable to keep the smile off his face as he got started. Losing himself in the paint-strokes, as the picture became clearer and clearer. He had most of the main colors blocked, and now it was the subtle shifts of color he needed to work on. Acrylic was a challenge, when it came to blending, and he supposed oil paint was suit his style more. But he liked the finality of it, the fact that once it dried, it would always be there as proof of his thought process even if he painted over it. 

Mistakes couldn’t be changed or erased, but they could be built upon to make something more beautiful.

The setting sun signaled to him that it was time to stop. He reluctantly cleaned up, taking his things to the bathroom and rinse. Once he was back in the room, he went over to the bay window seat and paused for a moment. It struck him, how intense his work was when it was magnified to this size. Everything else he had done had bene so small in comparison, but this. It shook him, and he wondered if he was finally seeing what Steve saw when he looked at Sam’s art.

The grays were so dense, and the blacks like deep cuts across the canvas. It truly looked like it was _moving_, like this was how it was intended. Sam fell onto the seat, staring in rapt wonder at the painting. It was nowhere near complete, but he suddenly felt like he was seeing things with new eyes.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he sat there, observing the work he had done. But soon enough, he realized he was squinting into near darkness and he quickly puled out his phone, using it to light his way to the door. He exited the room, immediately greeted by light and paused, hand on the doorknob.

He hadn’t turned on any of the lights in the house. The place was flooded with natural light during the day, so he hadn’t felt it was necessary. Which meant that _someone_ had come downstairs while Sam had been inside the room.

A chill ran through Sam’s body and he swallowed thickly. Right, this was someone else’s house. Someone he had never met, despite their cordial door-note correspondence. The idea that someone had been walking around without Sam noticing made him dizzy and for a moment, he considered not even bothering with a note and just leaving as quickly as possible.

_Get a grip, Sam._ He fumbled with his backpack, being a lot less gentle when he ripped out paper this time. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to leave the note still, but after the last few weeks it just seemed rude not to.

_‘I’m sorry I stayed so late, it won’t happen again. I just really got caught up in painting and lost track of time. Next time, just knock on the door or something and I’ll get out of your _ _house hair _ _house._

_I don’t really have a coffee preference. I’m used to the instant stuff anyway._

_\- Sam’_

He hastily taped it to the door and hurried out of the home, the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck more prominent than ever.

x x x x 

Steve was looking at Sam oddly while he painted, and Sam was doing his best to ignore him. Steve had been subdued when Sam had come by the studio, though he still pulled a stool up to sit with him. This time he had brought his laptop with him, either reading emails or indulging in his Pinterest board addiction.

Still, he would occasionally look over at Sam with this sort of contemplative look. One that he gave student artwork before he was trying to figure out how to word a critique. Sam might normally think Steve wanted to say something about his painting, but Steve had barely glanced at the canvas Sam was working on at all. It was unnerving, but Sam wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up, less he end up on the other side of one of Steve’s Bad Ideas.

“How are things going with your commission?” Steve asked casually, far too casually.

Sam glanced over without turning his head or stopping the brushstrokes he was making. He wondered if James had brought up how late Sam had stayed last time. Maybe Steve was going to break it to Sam that he needed to have set times to come and go. Sam felt his shoulders hunch at the idea that James might think he was treating everything far too informally for a professional gig.

“I accidentally stayed later than I meant to.” Sam admitted, though he was sure Steve already knew. “You can tell James it won’t happen again.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at that, his expression twisting into something complex that Sam couldn’t read.

“He never even mentioned it.” Steve said finally. “He said you seemed nice.”

“Nice?” Sam snorted a little and leaned away from his painting. He looked over Steve, saw the smallest smile on his face and ducked his head. He wondered if he knew about the notes, Sam secretly hoped he didn’t. It was the one way they communicated without Steve’s involvement. “He hasn’t even met me. How does he know I’m _nice?”_

“Hey! You're friends with me, aren’t you?” Something seemed to loosen in Steve and he leaned forward on his elbows. “But really, most people in your situation would snoop around or take advantage. He appreciates your consideration.”

Sam tried to ignore the flutter in his chest, but couldn’t stop his face from heating up. Sure, part of the reason he wasn’t more curious was that he was afraid. But the other part was just plain respect. While he might not understand why James felt the need to hide, he knew the reason must be important to the other man to go through such lengths to keep himself hidden. Sam had no right to try and pry deeper.

“Yeah, well, I still think he’s weird.” Sam groused half-heartedly. Weird, but hospitable and kind. “He won’t leave me soap to wash out my mug.”

Sam was surprised to hear Steve laugh, loud and genuine. He looked over to see that Steve’s eyes were squeezed shut, the laugh lines prominent around his mouth. He didn’t think it was that funny, but Steve looked genuinely amused.

“That sounds like him, I’ll see if I can get him to loosen up about it.” Steve finally said through a chuckle.

Sam nodded tightly, but didn’t reply. The idea of Steve asking for him made him feel oddly disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, the happenings happen.
> 
> ;)


	5. storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But as he turned and pushed, he felt resistance and then the door slammed shut again. Fear crawled up Sam’s spine. He tried one more time, pressing with his whole body, but the door wouldn’t budge. Whoever was on the other side was not letting him out. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little later than usual, but still here after all!
> 
> It's un-beta'd, and I don't wanna give anything away. Please enjoy!

Things got rougher the next week. One of the girls had quit and they needed people to pick up her hours until they hired someone else. Other than his own mental wellbeing, Sam couldn’t think of any reason why he couldn’t pick up an extra shift or two. This bills weren’t going to pay themselves after all, and not being able to afford internet meant his cell data usage was through the roof. So against his better judgement, he picked up the dreaded Friday night shift and a Sunday afternoon shift.

Sam was exhausted by Saturday and more stressed than he could ever remember being. When he wasn’t working, he was sleeping, his only reprieve during the week was time at Steve’s studio, and he had barely managed to convince himself to not skip out. Luckily, the threat of a Concerned Steve Call had convinced him to hop on the bus and head in for a little bit.

He normally would have been excited to work on his commission, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He needed to make sure he didn’t overstay today because he had another dog walking job in the morning and then the new afternoon shift right after. Rest was not optional tonight, or he wasn’t going to make it through another week.

Sam practically slept walk through the gate, eyes glued to the path he was walking down. With a heavy sigh, he rung the doorbell before hastily letting himself inside. By time he had reached the back room, he was so preoccupied with figuring out the most efficient way to work, that he almost forgot the note on the door. 

Sam startled himself as he opened the door, and the paper flapped with the movement. Blinking rapidly, it took a moment for his brain to catch up before he reached out and ripped the note down. His eyes scanned the lines of the note, smiling despite himself.

‘_Don’t waste your whole day here._

_I appreciate your hard work._

_But your weekends should still be yours.’_

Sam felt the tightness in his shoulders loosen at the sweet sentiment. Of course he probably had no idea just how much Sam worked. If anything, he probably thought he was one of Steve’s students or art friends. It was nice to have someone concerned that he should be taking a break, no matter how misguided.

_‘If you care to take some coffee with you._

_You are welcome to it._

_Appreciatively - J’_

If he weren’t so tired, he might laugh and then maybe even cry. This was the only place Sam had ever used Keurig. Now he wondered if James just thought he had terrible taste in coffee, and wasn’t just desperate to save money anywhere he could.

_Ps. I think it might rain today. Be careful.’_

Sam shook his head, and tucked the note away as he entered the room. Interestingly enough, he was pretty sure this was the first time James had referred to himself in one of these notes. Usually his lines were just nice suggestions for Sam, but he had actually referenced himself twice. Maybe James was warming up him, it was a nice thought.

As he sorted his supplies and went to get water, he considered James in a different light. The man didn’t seem to mind communicating with him in this way, and his replies were getting longer. He was keen on Sam being comfortable in his home, and it seemed like the only thing he _didn’t_ want was for Sam to ever see him. He considered what Steve said, that James had an accident a few years ago. It was perfectly reasonable that it had left him with scars or an injury that he didn’t feel comfortable with people seeing.

The thought was sobering to Sam. The idea that someone would shut themselves in fear of the world rejecting them because of what they looked like. His heart hurt for whatever he imagined was keeping James in his self-imposed solitude.

Sam got to work quickly, easily falling into the strokes of paint and mixing of grays. He chose soft music to listen to, letting the instrumental music keep his focus on the work in front of him. At some point he left to make coffee, noticing that the clouds seemed to be gathering in the distance. James was right, it looked like a storm was inevitably on its way.

He continued working, well aware of the light slowly dimming as the clouds began to encroach upon the sun. Eventually, the light was no longer bright, and instead shined dully, casting shadows in the room and making it impossible to paint clearly. Sam paused in the middle of abrushstroke and sighed, climbing down from the ladder and dropping the paintbrush he had been using into the water. He had gotten work done today, but it felt less inspired than the other weeks.

Feeling pensive, he wandered over to the bay window seat and collapsed onto the comfortable cushion. The filtered light seem to give the painting a different mood entirely, and the straight black lines of the triangles in the distant background made his heart thump wildly. He had come to see them as a mountain range, unbending and foreboding, determined to stop any progress. At times, hated that they were so integral to the art work, without them this was just another average painting.

Sam slowly placed a hand on his chest over his heart, feeling it thump loudly against his chest. Perhaps the coffee hadn’t been the best idea when he was so tired. Groaning, Sam leaned his head back, listening as rain began to gently hit the glass windows. Soon enough a heavy rainfall began, the even sound sending shivers down Sam’s spine. He felt himself relaxing into the surprisingly comfortable loveseat. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this at peace.

x x x x

Sam startled awake to loud knocking on a door and found himself flailing in the dark. His hands pressed into soft cushions he he tried to gain his bearings and remember where the hell he was. The room was nearly pitch black, besides the light from the moon shining outside. Sam’s muddled brain tried to make sense of the high-ceilings and large windows, nothing at all like a boxy, cramped studio apartment.

Eventually, his heart settled as he realized he must have fallen asleep at James’ house. He remembered sitting back and observing his art, and then relaxing sound of rain on the windows. 

_Oh God,_ _how late was it? _

He heard more knocks, louder this time and he looked over to see that there was a light on in the hallway, and the shadow of someone standing outside. Sam froze, like deer caught in headlights, unsure of what to do. 

That had to be James, probably wondering why in the world Sam was still inside his house. Sam felt heat rush to his face as he scrambled off the seat and near tripped his way over to the door. He flipped on one of the lights be reaching for the doorknob, determined to apologize in person for being so unprofessional.

But as he turned and pushed, he felt resistance and then the door slammed shut again. Fear crawled up Sam’s spine. He tried one more time, pressing with his whole body, but the door wouldn’t budge. Whoever was on the other side was not letting him out. Sam tried desperately not to let panic set in, but suddenly all the fears he had from the moment he’d seen the place flooded his mind.

“James?” He asked, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “I- Uh, I mean Mr. Barnes? It’s me, Sam.” That’s what you were supposed to right? Remind kidnappers that you were a person. God, he hoped this wasn’t a kidnapping. He wasn’t worth any money, his Mother would be absolutely distraught, his job wouldn’t believe him. “I fell asleep, which I know is completely unprofessional and I apologize.”

He put the slightest pressure on the door to no avail, and barely bit back a swear. He leaned his forehead against the door, trembling as he tried to keep tears from pricking at his eyes. _This is what you get for trusting stupid white men with pretty eyes._

“_Sam,_” 

He jerked his head away from the doors, eyes wide as he stared at the painted wood. That voice, he wasn’t expecting it to be… lovely. It was a little rough, like he didn’t talk very often, but it was deep, with an edge of softness that Sam would have never expected. He’d imagined James’ voice many times before, but he wasn’t expecting him to sound so nice? Normal?

“_Sam,” _James sounded like he was testing the name. “Are you okay?”

Sam felt his grip on the doorknob loosen, shocked at the absurdity of the statement. James was currently keeping him trapped inside his back room, but he sounded so genuinely concerned that Sam wasn’t sure _he _was the one confused about how this situation should be playing out.

“I.. Yes?” It came out as more of a question than he intended. “I, um, had a late shift last night.”He continued. “And I guess with the rain, and everything. I just fell asleep.”

It sounded pathetic to his own ears, but right now he figured truth the best policy. Lying to his client when he had probably already pissed him off was not the best option. He just hoped James would be understanding.

“I called Steve.” Came the eventual reply. “I got worried. About you.”

Sam blinked in surprise, his hand falling fully from the doorknob. He was worried about Sam? He stared at the shadow under the door, desperate for any glimpse of the man. But he knew even without trying again, that the door wasn’t going to budge. Sadness flooded Sam’s heart, as he realized Bucky wasn’t trying to lock him in, he was just trying to protect himself while still helping. He couldn’t imagine how much courage it had even taken James to be talking to him right now.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Sam said, shaking his head even if he knew James couldn’t see him. “Now he’s going to go all Mama Bear on me.”

There was a long silence, and Sam wondered if maybe he had stuck his foot in his mouth. This was still his client, they weren’t in a joking around stage right now, and probably would never be. He sighed, ready to apologize again when James suddenly spoke.

“Then you should get more rest.” James sounded almost accusatory. “And not work so much.”

“Oh man, I wish.” Sam said with a bitter laugh. He supposed if James was rich enough to be living in this huge, immaculate mansion and not have go out and work he didn’t quite understand the grind of minimum wage working. “I really wish. But we’ve all got bills to pay.”

He didn’t get an answer, and Sam hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way. The shadow was still underneath the door though and he just rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting.

“Steve’s outside.” James sounded relieved. “Give me a few minutes, please.”

The last part sounded pained, and Sam didn’t understand what he meant at first. But then he saw the shadow disappear and quiet footsteps hurried down the hall. He waited until he couldn’t hear anything until he turned and went to grab his bag. He paused for another minute to be sure, and then cautiously opened the door. 

The lights were still on, but James was nowhere to be found. He didn’t see anything to even suggest that the man had been there. Sam sighed, disappointment warring with relief, not sure what he would even say if he came face to face with James anyway. 

Just as opened the front door he saw Steve standing there, holding an umbrella with one hand, the other raised to ring the doorbell. Sam tried not to let the relief show on his face, and rolled his eyes at the concerned look he could see on Steve’s face even in the dim light from the house.

“Sam, god, I was so worried.” Steve said it all in a rush. He ushered Sam under the umbrella as he led them back down the stone path. “Are you alright? Bucky was panicking.”

_Bucky?_ Sam remembered hearing him say that name once before. Was that what he called James? Sam didn’t get a chance to ask as Steve continued, leading Sam to an unfamiliar black car.

“He didn’t see you leave and got worried, especially with this weather.” Steve continued, opening the car door for Sam, concern still evident in his voice.

“I’m fine, Steve, really.” Sam tried for reassuring, but he knew that he was going to get twenty questions on the way back to his apartment. 

He got into the car, sighing as he felt the warm seats. Steve hurried into the drivers side, closing up his umbrella and sticking it in the back. His hair was wet, pushed back away from his face as though he had gotten caught in the rain before grabbing an umbrella.

“Whose car is this?” Sam asked, brow furrowed. He didn’t think Steve owned anything but his motorcycle.

“Borrowed it from a friend.” Steve answered blithely before turning up the Dad in his stare to frankly unacceptable levels. “Don’t change the subject. What’s going on with you?”

“_Nothing_.” Sam tried to stress, but Steve’s brow only furrowed more. With a sigh, he slumped back into his seat, staring out the front window. Seconds ticked by, and even as they drove, he could feel Steve staring at him out of the corner of his eye. “I picked up some more shifts at work.” He finally ground out.

He tried not to look at Steve, but still caught his reflection in the mirror. The older man’s face had softened, pity settling in those blue eyes, making Sam’s chest constrict painfully.

“Oh, _Sam._” Was all Steve said before they drove the rest of the way in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys are so good, and so so sad. It's almost like fate (or Steve) knows they need each other.
> 
> Comments & kudos are appreciated!


	6. trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There was a sudden loud shuffle, like someone tripping over their own feet and then the sudden bang of a door slamming shut nearby. Sam winced, feeling bad for the poor door as he peered down the hallway. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam-tember rolls along at a merry pace!!
> 
> The guys have spoken, not-quite-face-to-face and it was kind of overwhelming for everyone involved. We'll see how we progress from now on! We got a little bit of Sharon in this one, and a surprise role-reversal.

Things improved the next week, or at least Sam’s body got somewhat use to his new schedule. He went out with Steve on Tuesday night, their usual Wednesday meeting having to be postponed because of a commitment Steve had with a potential client the next day. Instead of going to the studio, they went for a late dinner at a tavern in the city. It was usually more than Sam would care to spend, but Steve waved off his offer to pay half the bill and Sam left a tip. 

They had a nice time, Steve talked about his classes, the kids at the rec center and the new client he might be working with. Sam griped about entitled customers, and showed him pictures of the dogs he walked. He carefully left out what had happened between him and James the night Steve had come to pick him up. He was afraid if he explained it, Steve would feel compelled to confront James about it. Sam didn’t want to give the other man any more reason to avoid him. Instead, he just told him that the work was going well and that he promised to try and get a good night’s rest the night before.

On Wednesday, Sharon convinced him to go out with him, promising they’d find a dive to drink and talk in. Of course they ended up in the club, sweating away in the mass of bodies and they moved to the bass of the music. They’d barely been on the floor for 30 minutes when it struck Sam that he was maybe getting too old to be doing this sort of thing.

Eventually he and Sharon waded their way through the crowd and off the dance floor, cradling the drinks they had managed to nurse throughout the night. Sharon grinned at him, tired and sweaty and he knew he probably looked the same. She was back in school for her PsyD as well as working full-time.

“Do you have plans on Saturday, Wilson?” She asked over the sound of the pumping music.

Sam leaned in, pretending that he was still processing the question as he tried to think of an excuse. No one except Steve knew about the art thing, he didn’t think he’d be able to explain it. As much as he loved Sharon, the last thing he needed was for her to start psychoanalyzing his paintings. That and he was sure if he was up to explaining the entire James situation anyway.

“I got a job on Saturday.” He finally called back. She raised one delicate eyebrow and he shrugged in return. “House-sitting for the night.”

“House-sitting?” She sounded suspicious and took a sip of her drink, watching him from underneath her blonde hair. “Who needs someone to look after their house for one night?”

“They have birds.” Sam blurted out, internally banging his head against the wall. Birds? Who even _said_ things like that. “I’m watching someone’s birds for the night. One of my dog client’s recommended me.”

Sharon watched him closely for a moment, and Sam could feel beads of sweat that had nothing to do with how much he had been dancing pour down his back. Eventually though, she leaned away, nodded and switched the topic to last week’s episode of American Horror Story. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and let her go on about a tv show he had absolutely zero intention of watching.

x x x x

Going back to James’ house on Saturday felt more tense than it had been the past few weeks since he had started. He had made sure to set an alarm promptly for 4:30 pm, so that he would start cleaning up and be out of the house by 5:30. So far, he hadn’t gotten any texts from Steve telling he needed to be careful or only stay certain hours. It was frustrating that so much of his communication had to go through Steve or just notes on doors. While the whole things was charming, it didn’t help him get to know James any better.

That gave Sam pause, standing awkwardly outside of the door to the home. Did he want to get to know James better? After all, the man was just his client. When this job ended, he was going to hand Sam a big fat check and he’d probably never have anything to do with the man ever again. Maybe thats why James was willing to be so patient. Sooner, rather than later, Sam would be finished and out of his hair for good.

It surprised Sam how dour the idea of it made him feel. James’ notes were just so welcoming, it was less like he was doing a job and more like he just had a private place to paint. No one hovered over him, critiquing his every move or wanting to ask him a million questions. It was just James, adamant that Sam drink as much coffee as he wanted and not worry about cleaning up after himself.

It wasn’t until Sam got to the door to the room that he realized he had forgotten to write a note the last time. He had been in such a flustered state, that he had run out of the house without even a second glance. He supposed that it wasn’t necessary, considering he had actually talked to James the last time. But still, he felt almost disappointed that it could mean the end of their written correspondence.

To his great delight though, there, taped to the door, was another note. Relief spreading through him, he gently removed it from the door, reading it as he entered the room.

_‘Sam,_

_I apologize for last weekend._

<strike> _I think I might have frightened you?_ </strike>

_You didn’t leave a note._

_I promise it won’t happen again._

_Steve told me you were okay, just tired._

_I’m glad._

_\- J_

_Ps. Feel free to take a break whenever you need to.’_

He could just read the words scratched out in the middle of the note and his heart ached. It wasn’t just him. James was just as invested in the notes. He knew it was possible that he was reading too much into it, but he couldn’t help but feel happier knowing that they shared a desire to communicate.

He got to work right away, feeling inspired and reinvigorated. Strangely enough, having confirmation that James was in the house with him no longer felt oppressive. It was almost comforting, knowing that he wasn’t alone. He popped on an upbeat playlist and started painting.

Around 2:30, he felt the craving for coffee and hopped down off the step ladder and tucked his phone away. He headed to the kitchen, smiling as he saw the familiar selection waiting for him as always. Sam popped in a vanilla bean coffee k-cup and leaned against the counter to wait. Once the coffee finished brewing, he picked up the mug and cradled it to his chest. He felt oddly un-rushed, thinking that perhaps James’ insistence that he make himself comfortable had finally gotten to him. Sam didn’t think he would ever get over how impersonally decorated the house was, but he could appreciate that it was beautiful. It was modern, yet simple and he could see a family making their lives here. It made him wonder why James even had such a home if he didn’t use half of it.

Sam was so relaxed, he nearly missed the sound of footsteps in the hall. But when he heard them, quiet as a whisper against the wood, he stood up straight. It wasn’t that late, but James was apparently around, probably thinking that Sam was engrossed in his work. Sam’s heart hammered in his chest, and he tried to consider his options. He didn’t want to startle James by popping out of the kitchen, but he also didn’t want to scare him by standing stock still in the kitchen like a mannequin.

Eventually, Sam made his way over to the kitchen doorway. He kept his eyes straight ahead, resisting the temptation to look down the hall. Instead he knocked hesitantly on the doorframe and called. “Mr. Barnes?”

There was a sudden loud shuffle, like someone tripping over their own feet and then the sudden bang of a door slamming shut nearby. Sam winced, feeling bad for the poor door as he peered down the hallway. He saw the light flicker on and then quickly off underneath the door that led to the bathroom, and bit his lip, worried.

Slowly, he made his way down the hall, not bothering to try and keep quiet. He knocked hesitantly on the bathroom door, looking down and not seeing any shadow to indicate the James was holding the door closed.

“Mr. Barnes?” Sam said again, trying to keep his voice gently, but loud enough that he would be able to hear him. “It’s just me, Sam.”

Sam pressed his fist to his forehead and suppressed a groan. Who else would it have been? James had probably watched him come in from one of the other two floors. He waited patiently, but didn’t hear even the slightest sound of movement coming from inside. As time ticked on, Sam felt less curious and more ashamed of himself. He was doing exactly what James had done to him last week, and he knew how much James was afraid of letting Sam see him.

With a sigh, he placed a hand on the door, wishing he could reach through and assure the other man that Sam _wanted_ to see him. Would accept whatever it was about him that James didn’t want anyone to see. But Sam understood that wasn’t how these things worked.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes.” Sam said. “I’m going to go back now. I’m leaving at 5:30, okay? I promiseit won’t be like last week.”

He closed his eyes briefly, thinking of James’ note. He had been worried about frightening Sam, but right now James seemed like he was the one who was terrified. Sam started to move away from the door when a sudden sound stopped him.

“James.” 

Sam paused, half-way turned away from the door, unsure of if he had heard correctly.

“Call me James. Please.”

He seemed hesitant, almost like he wasn’t sure if he was saying the right thing. But it was enough for a smile to blossom across Sam’s face. 

“Let me guess.” Sam chuckled, turning back to the door. “Mr. Barnes is your Father?”

There was a quick bark of laughter, that faded out as soon as it came. Sam wondered if James laughed very much at all, and the thought that he had been able to do it had Sam feeling quite proud of himself. If given the choice, Sam would have gladly stood and talked through the door with James some more, but he realized he had a job to do and it wasn’t fair to keep his client trapped in his own bathroom.

“Well, I’m sorry for startling you, James.” Sam couldn’t help the thrill of pleasure that shot through his veins at being able to say that name. “I just wanted to make some coffee. I’ll get out of your way now.”

“Is it okay?” 

Sam raised an eyebrow and leaned in a little. “Is what okay?”

“The coffee.” James elaborated, legitimately sounding worried. “Is it— Do you like it?”

Sam frowned, and tilted his head, looking down at the mug he was carrying. Literally anything was better than the watered down stuff he drank every other day of the week. Still, he appreciated the sentiment of it all and it seemed important to James.

“It’s great, James, really. I don’t get good coffee like this, um, ever really.” Sam confessed. “It helps a lot.”

There was a long pause on the other side of the door before the other man sighed out. “Good.”

Silence fell, and it would have almost been comfortable if not for the absurd situation. Realizing he was still losing time, Sam rocked back on his heels and spoke apologetically. “Hey, I should really get to work. And I’m sure you don’t want to stay cooped up in there.”

“I—“ There was an almost affronted pause, before James continued. “No, I’m keeping you from your art. Sorry, Sam.”

His voice sounded almost wistful, and Sam’s chest ached. _Lonely._ His mind provided, and he was half tempted to stay. He looked down at his coffee for a moment, before shaking his head. No, this wasn’t the right thing to do at all. James was a client, he had to remember that.

“I’m leaving now.” Sam called, a little awkwardly, but he wanted to let James know the coast would soon be clear.It wasn’t until he was safely in the back room did he hear the sound of a door opening and shuffling footsteps heading in the opposite direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky...he's trying so hard. One thing you need to know about this fic that as angsty as it may be, its so so soft.
> 
> Comments & kudos always appreciated!


	7. progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He heard a hand on the doorknob and took a step back, closing his eyes tightly. At this point, if James had asked him to wear a blindfold he probably would have done it, but for now he would do anything to ensure he didn’t break James’ trust in him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're moving right along, and it feels so good. I really hope ya'll are enjoying yourselves because I am absolutely living while writing this fic. I'm in love with it, enamoured. IF you've read my other long fics, you know I love keeping up the tension, but this is good in its own special way.
> 
> Un-beta'd as always!
> 
> Please enjoy!

Steve was staring at him with this _look_ on his face. It was not his worried, or sympathetic look either. His blue eyes were sparkling, and he was almost smiling. If Sam had to describe the look, he would almost call it _pleased. _

It was incredibly distracting, and while Sam tried to ignore the look, his paintbrush kept stuttering against his canvas, producing messy, jittering brushstrokes. He scowled, and finally whipped his head around to glare at Steve directly. 

He jabbed his paintbrush in the older man’s direction. _“What?”_

If Steve was offended by his tone, he certainly didn’t show it. If anything, the smile on his lips grew. It was like he knew something that Sam didn’t, and was barely containing himself from sharing.

“Oh my _God.” _Said said practically under his breath. “Spit it out Steve, you’re being weird.”

Steve’s head tilted at that, making him look like an adorably confused Golden Retriever. “I am not.” He insisted. “I can’t just be happy to spend time with my friend?”

Something about the way he said that last part just made Sam even more suspicious. “Not that happy.”

Steve huffed and leaned back a little. “You just seem to be more chipper this week.”

Sam rolled his eyes and dipped his paintbrush in water before loading his brush with more dark gray paint. He leaned toward his canvas, keeping his eyes on what he was doing. “I guess.” Sam couldn’t lie. He had left Bucky’s house on Saturday with a renewed pep in his step. For some reason, even talking to him through a door seemed like progress.

Progress towards what, Sam hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“How was working on your commission this weekend?”

There it was. Sam sighed, forcing himself to not look at Steve. “What did James tell you?”

The one thing that continued to bother him was his limited communication with James. When he was in the house, it felt strangely intimate, just the two of them existing in nebulous space where they only vaguely interacted. There was something almost beautiful about how they lived on the fringes of one another’s worlds, growing closer by the week. But reality always came crashing down when Steve reminded him of how freely he spoke with the other man.

“_James._” Steve sounded so amused when he said the name. “He didn’t tell me anything.” Steve insisted before backtracking a little. “Well. He asked if you had any coffee preference.”

Sam groaned and closed his eyes, just narrowly reminding himself not to lean forward and press his forehead against the wet canvas. Eventually, he peeked over at Steve, who seemed to be stifling laughter. 

“It’s not funny Steve, he keeps asking me if theres a certain kind of coffee I like.” Sam burst out, unable to hold back telling someone about the absurdity of the situation. “I’ve never even heard of half the flavors he has. It’s like I’m being served by a - a ghost barista.”

Steve did laugh at that, deep belly laughs that caused him to nearly double over. Sam stared in surprise, not sure he’d ever seen such an outburst of emotion of the older man. Steve was rather optimistic by nature, but his positivity was usual very serene and straightforward. Seeing him so inhibited was like a breath of fresh air, even if it came at Sam’s expense.

“Sam,” Steve eventually got himself under control and wiped at his slightly wet eyes. “Sam, he’s just trying to be polite.” Steve assured him, his expression softening. “I’m sure you can tell. He doesn’t get much company.”

Sam bit his lip, stopping himself from saying that he wasn’t sure if he counted as company. He was doing a job for this guy, after all, it wasn’t like they were buddies. And from what Steve had told him, it sounded like James was just lonely and would use any excuse to be able to interact with someone. Even if it was the artist he commissioned to paint a non-representational abstract piece of artwork.

“Yeah, well…” Sam wasn’t sure what he could say in the face of that. Because the truth was, no matter how much he tried to remember his boundaries, he couldn’t help but crave James’ company too.

x x x x 

If he was over eager to get to James’ house the next Saturday, there was no one around to judge him for it. He was quicker than usual kissing Scooter and Stella goodbye after their walk, and felt less inclined to talk to his friendly uber driver than usual. He could practically feel her eyes on his back as he bounded out of her car and headed toward the gate.

He tried to manage him expectations as he got to the door, taking a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. What had happened last weekend had been a complete fluke, and the chances that it would happen again were slim. If James was really that worried about being caught, he was much more likely to just avoid coming downstairs at any time when he knew Sam was here. Secretly though, Sam couldn’t help but hope it was different.

He was pleasantly surprised to see a note hanging on the back room door. He had left one last week, apologizing for being so nosy and assuring James that the coffee selection he had was fine. But he thought the other man would be too put off by their interaction to respond.

_‘Sam,_

_Thank you for last week._

_I know this must be difficult for you._

<strike> _I don’t know how I can make it up to you_ _._ </strike>

_There is a new variety pack in the kitchen.’_

Sam felt his eyelid twitch involuntarily, he was starting to think that James was just fucking with him at this point. It was _just_ coffee.

_‘Help yourself to more than on flavor._

_Or take some with you if you want._

_\- J’_

Sam thought it was rather sweet that James thought he might actually own a Keurig. Considering Sam had given up on even trying to brew coffee after realizing he could waste less money and time by just having his watered down instant stuff. Maybe after he finished this job and got his check, he would treat himself to one.

That thought sobered him up quickly, and he remembered what he was actually there to do. Folding the note away, he headed into the room, pleased to see his painting with fresh eyes after a week away. He had to say, seeing the smooth transition from black to light gray was stunning in large form. He could see his brushstrokes on the canvas, but he found that he liked the way they stood out on such a large area. it made the painting feel even more alive, enhancing the feeling of movement that Sam was trying to convey. He was eager to work on the bright highlights, but decided today he would go in and emphasize the dark shadows along the overlapping squares to really define their shape.

Eager to get to work, Sam took a one his buckets to fill. It was odd, he realized, standing in the same bathroom that he had accidentally trapped James int he week before. Of course, it looked as spotless as ever, and had the interaction not been so profound, he would have thought maybe he dreamed it.

After filling up on water, he headed back to the room, shutting the door behind him. He slipped on the navy blue apron and immediately set out to begin painting with bold strokes of pure black.

x x x x 

Sam had no idea how long he worked uninterrupted. Even his usual caffeine craving couldn’t tear him away as he started fading the black into dark gray. The background triangles which he had been so concerned about were slowly finding their place in the painting, becoming a rather attractive and necessary asset to the visual story.

He was up on the ladder when he suddenly saw a light out of the corner of his eye and paused to look. His breath caught in his chest, as realized that James must have turned on the light in the hallway. He didn’t want to move, afraid that James would notice movement and run off, but at the same time he desperately wanted to try and reach him again.

Before he was able to decide what to do, he heard a hesitant knock on the door. This was different from the urgent knock from a few weeks ago when he had fallen asleep. He could sense hesitance in this sound, like James wasn’t quite sure if he should be doing.

Sam climbed down the later slow, placing the still wet paintbrush on the plastic covered floor. His eyes flickered down to the bottom of the door, and he could see the shadow outside, just standing and waiting. With all the carefulness of approaching a particularly skittish animal, Sam made his way over to the door. 

Something compelled him to raise his fist and knock back, once and then twice before he lowered his hand to his side. There was silence for a long time before he finally spoke up. “James? Is that you?”

It was a stupid question perhaps, but Sam didn’t know what else to say. This was unprecedented.

“Sam.” God, his voice was just as lovely as Sam remembered. “You haven’t had coffee yet.”

Sam bit back a groan, placing a hand over his chest. He had no idea how this had become a _thing_ but here they were. Able to get his voice somewhat under control he answered. “I got really focused on painting. I totally forgot.”

“Oh.” Came the soft reply from outside. Sam tried to gauge whether he was disappointed or not. “I.. I made you some. Coffee, a cup of coffee.”

Sam did choke this time, unable to keep the surprised noise from escaping his throat. James had _made_ him coffee? And was presumably holding it outside? Sam’s eyes flickered to the doorknob, and his fingers itched to try and open it. 

“That’s… wow, you didn’t have to do that.” Sam said. “Not that I’m not grateful! It’s just..”

_Not your job._ Sam couldn’t bring himself to say that part, less he did sound ungrateful. Surely this broached some sort of Client-Artist barriers,.

Quiet settled between them and Sam shuffled a little awkwardly, waiting. He realized James wasn’t going to make a move and cleared his throat. “So, um…”

“I want to give this to you.” James voice suddenly dropped, sounding almost pained. It didn’t even seem like he was talking to Sam. “But, I…”

Sam let out a soft sympathetic noise, not even sure if James could hear him. He placed a hand on the door, wishing he could somehow radiate comfort through the barrier that separated them. A small, sad smile crossed his lips. “Why don’t you just leave it nearby for me, James? I’ll wait a few minutes before getting it.”

What he wouldn’t give to be able to drink the coffee while having an actual conversation with James. But he understood that would be impossible.

“I still want to talk to you.” Now James sounded almost angry, clearly struggling with himself. “I can’t—“ He cut himself off sharply, the abruptness made Sam’s chest ache.

“Hey.. hey, James.” Sam said softly, getting as close to the door as he could. “What if I close my eyes. And you hand me the coffee and I _promise_ I won’t open them until you tell me to, okay?”

God, what was he even doing? Sam had no idea where that suggestion had come from. All he knew was that he had to think of something before James scared himself and ran off. It James _wanted_ to talk to Sam - he wanted something between them and Sam did too. He wanted so badly to get to know James. He wanted to ask him why he found Sam’s paintings so interesting. What he did all alone in this big house? What was his obsession with coffee? 

Things he had no right to pry into, but desperately wanted to know.

“You can trust me, James.” Sam urged. He held his breath, waiting.

“_Okay._” The reply was almost so soft Sam had to strain to hear it.

He heard a hand on the doorknob and took a step back, closing his eyes tightly. At this point, if James had asked him to wear a blindfold he probably would have done it, but for now he would do anything to ensure he didn’t break James’ trust in him. 

He heard the slightest creak as the door opened slowly, and he could see the light through his eyelids. He reached out his hands, keeping them from trembling as he waited. Slowly, he felt the press of warm ceramic into his palms, and he gripped the mug in both hands. No sooner had the taken the mug, did the door quickly shut and the light behind his eyelids returned to dark.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut for an additional few seconds before slowly opening them. He looked down at the mug in his hands, steam still rising from the rich colored liquid. He cradled the mug to his chest, warmth flooding him for two entirely different reasons.

“Thank you, James.” Sam said, hoping his meaning was clear.

He couldn't say he was surprised when he heard an almost mournful sound from behind the door. The shadow disappeared from underneath the door, and Sam listened, disappointed to James retreating footsteps. 

It was probably too much, all at once and Sam couldn’t blame him for getting cold feet. Instead, he chose to take sip of the coffee, it smelled and tasted faintly of blueberry. Sam turned and went back to his painting, the sun’s rays emphasizing the smooth changes in tone.

He was making progress. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told ya'll this was turning into a coffee shop AU. And if you think I'm letting that go anytime soon oh-ho-ho, better think again.
> 
> Also, Steve is an incredibly unsubtle matchmaker.


	8. stung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sam couldn’t help but laugh. He cradled his coffee to his chest and leaned his shoulder against the door. The connection he felt to this man who he’d never seen was insane. But it wasn’t something he could help or control. Or maybe he just didn’t want to?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this at 12am, but it still counts!! Lol, it just means you'll get a double update with one later today. I just got back from seeing Hamilton about two hours ago and had to get ready for bed. I tried to go through and edit this as much as possible, but I'm pretty exhausted. So if there are more mistakes than usual I apologize.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Another week flew by, with Sam longing for the weekend with each day that passed. If his coworkers and friends noticed anything odd about his behavior, they didn’t mention it. The only person who seemed to have an opinion was Steve, and all he’d done when Sam showed up for their usual studio session was raise an eyebrow and giving him a Knowing look. But he didn’t question Sam about anything, other than asking about the progress of his commission.

That got Sam thinking. He had been working for over a month, the painting was coming along well. It was amazing when he thought back to how unsure of the whole thing he had been. Because he _adored_ working on such a large canvas. The ideas which he had considered unrefined and confused truly came to life spread across the wide canvas. He’d never admit it, but it hurt to know that he would likely never do such an ambitious project again. After this, he would go back to the small canvases he got on sale, and he feared the confidence he’d gained would dwindle as well.

Then there was the other thing. The thing he tried to ignore, but occupied much of his mind anyway.

He had spoken with James three times now. Never seen the man’s face, but found his voice to be more soothing than he could have ever imagined. The mystery had yet the wear off, and if anything his desire to know more was only steadily growing. He knew James had been generous before, but the fact that the man had gone out of his way to _make_ Sam coffee put an entirely new spin on everything.

Because it meant that James was engaging him. Despite his obvious anxieties, James desperately wanted to reach out. He’d even said that he wanted to talk to Sam. The confession had torn at Sam’s heart, because he could tell just how difficult it was for James to even interact in these small ways.

Maybe it was odd. But Sam wanted to do something for him, to show he appreciated James’ effort to even try. He tried to remind himself that this was a job, he needed to keep professional distance. But the disapproving voice in the back of his head only grew smaller and smaller as it got closer to the weekend.

He figured it out Saturday morning, after getting up and taking a shower. He was on his way out of his apartment, and had glanced at the instant coffee on his cluttered kitchen counter. He didn’t have time to make any, but it reminded him of James. How he had made Sam coffee, but then been too stressed by the situation to stick around and talk. 

Sam had an idea.

He went to walk Stella and Scooter, enjoying it, but also anxious to get to James’ home. Once he dropped the dogs off, he took a quick detour and instead walked to the Starbucks about fifteen minutes away from the high-end apartment complex. It wasn’t busy since it was an early Saturday morning, and while he grimaced at the price of two coffees, he tried to remember that if everything went to plan it would all be worth it.

Coffees in hand, he ordered his uber. He decided that the next time Sharon asked him out, they were going to have to find some place having a _really_ good deal with the way he was spending money.

Once he arrived, it was a little awkward getting in, carrying both coffees and his backpack. But he shouldered his way through the iron gate and up the stone path. While the blandness of the mansion was still odd, he was beginning to understand it more. James was so very anxious about even someone he wanted to talk to seeing him. Sam understood why he would want to make his house look like the most uninteresting person lived there. James couldn’t quite make the place disappear,but he could make things look so pristine and untouchable that people would glance over it without a second thought.

He rang the doorbell, letting James’ know he was there, before letting himself into the home. As he walked, he debated on where to put the coffee so that James would notice it. There was probably a room he hadn’t peeked into that had a staircase that he could leave the coffee by, but that felt like a step too far. He didn’t want to get too comfortable before James was ready.

Instead, when he reached his door, he put the coffees on the floor for a brief moment while he lifted the expected note off of the door.

_‘Sam,_

_You're a good man._

Oh, wow. Sam’s chest warmed even while his heart ached. He could hear James’ voice speaking in his mind now. The fact that all it took was Sam respecting his wishes in his own home to make Sam a good man… 

_There are things I want to ask you._

_Not about coffee._

_But I know dealing with this is difficult enough._

_I want to thank you._

<strike> _In person — up close — Too see you_ </strike>

_Please let me know if I’m disturbing you._

_\- J’_

The crossed out words gave Sam pause. He tried not to read too much into it, and slowly folded the paper and put it in his pocket. It was something to infer that James did want to see him from his actions, but it was another thing entirely to actually know that James wanted to see him face-to-face.

Sam set down his backpack and pulled out his notebook to write a quick note for James. He doodled a little arrow, pointing over and to the side where he would leave the coffee and hope James noticed it. Sam taped the note to the door, knowing he was being very presumptuous that James would even come around to talk to him again. But judging by the note, he was feeling optimistic.

Sam headed inside and immediately got to work setting up. He went to fill up the water as soon as he could so that James would hopefully know that he wasn’t in danger of running into Sam while he was getting water.

Once he was closed inside the room, he realized just how fast his heart was beating, and it had nothing to do with painting. Sure, he was pretty much enamored with the painting. There were times when he really stepped back, looked at the way the shapes glided across the huge canvas and couldn’t believe _he_ was the one who had painted it. The blending of grays was natural, and the movement so smooth, he had to resist running his hands over the canvas.

He was still admiring his work, sipping on his coffee, when he heard a hesitant knock on the door. Sam was surprised it had come so soon, and had to catch himself before he practically bounded over to the door. He didn’t want his overeagerness to scare James off.

Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the door and raised his hand to knock back. Smiling a little bit at the ritual before saying. “James?”

He could see the shadow under the door move, as though the other man was shuffling a little bit. The reply was quiet. “Sam.” And then, with a hint of surprise. “Is this for me?”

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle. “There any other James’ I would leave coffee out for?” Sam teased gently, referring to the note he had left. “Figured I owed you.”

James scoffed on the other-side of the door and Sam wondered if he was rolling his eyes as well. _God_, he so wanted to see the man.

“You didn’t have to do that,” James replied. “You’re doing so much already.”

Sam was touched to hear the concern in James’ voice. He couldn’t bring himself to remind the man that Sam was technically doing a job, and that getting free coffee was not part of it. It seemed they both had a hard time grasping the concept of a proper client-creator etiquette

“Don’t worry about it, man.” Sam said. “I just kinda wanted to return the favor from last week.”

“The Keurig did most of the work.” James deadpanned. 

Sam couldn’t help but laugh. He cradled his coffee to his chest and leaned his shoulder against the door. The connection he felt to this man who he’d never seen was insane. But it wasn’t something he could help or control. Or maybe he just didn’t want to?

“How is it?” Sam asked, remembering how concerned James was with Sam’s own taste in coffee.

It was quiet for a moment before James answered. “I’ve had better.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s Starbucks. It’s not about the quality. It’s about _the experience._”

“_Experience_.” James huffed out, sounding baffled. “Isn’t this expensive?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. He’d mentioned in a note he worked in retail, and had given a few off-hand remarks that divulged his financial status. It sort of brought everything back to a sobering reality, remembering the only reason he was here was an offer of an amount of money he couldn’t in good conscious refuse.

“Sam.. you shouldn’t have spent your money on me, I’m not—“

“I wanted to.” Sam cut him off. “I wanted to…” _Give you a reason to stay. To talk._ “Just, do something for you. I guess.”

There was silence on the other side of the door, and Sam was sure he had ruined it.

“You’re a weird one, Sam.”

Sam blinked, surprised and then quickly amused. “You’re one to talk, Barnes.”

“_James_.” He stressed. “Don’t get formal on me now.”

The unsaid _please_ was right there at the end of the sentence. Sam wondered why he seemed so sensitive to what he was called. He supposed that was just one more mystery to add to James Barnes.

“I should let you get back to work.” James said finally, a wistful note to his voice. “Thanks for the coffee, Sam.”

“No problem.” Sam held his tongue from saying that James could stay if he wanted. _You have a job. _He reminded himself, almost resentfully. “Hey, any time you wanna stop by and chat, feel free.”

Sam almost missed it, but he heard a genuine soft chuckle from the other side of the door. 

“Sure, Sam.” 

James sounded like he didn’t believe Sam at all. That wouldn’t do. 

“I’m serious, James.” Sam insisted. “I really like talking to you.”

They were so close to having an actual conversation. If only they could just sit down together and chat somewhere. He was sure they would hit it off. Suddenly, the door separating them seemed so much wider than the few inches of wood. Sam closed his eyes, the reality fo the whole situation setting in.

“But you don’t have to.” Sam added, suddenly feeling foolish. “I know I’m not,” Sam paused, he glanced around. This wasn’t his world at all. “I know I’m just here to do a job.”

“_Sam_.”

It was so quiet, and gentle. Sam leaned forward, his cheek coming in contact with the cool wood of the door. He looked down and bit his lip as he watched the shadow disappear from beneath the door. Right, he had walked right into this one.

Overeager, but in the end, underwhelming. It was an uncomfortably familiar feeling.

x x x x 

James didn’t come back.

Not that Sam had been _expecting _him too, but still, it stung. He was able to distract himself from the complex situation with painting, but soon enough his alarm went off, signaling that it was time to start cleaning up. He did so quietly, and efficiently, trying not too think too much about just how much of a mess he had worked himself into over James.

He had made something so big out of very little. James was just a rich guy who liked Sam’s paintings. So he offered Sam coffee, like any normal polite person would.

He cleaned up in record time, barely sparing a glance at the painting. He was finishing up soon anyway, maybe two or three more weeks tops. He needed to start focusing on what his next step would be instead of romanticizing the guy whose face he never saw.

Sam grabbed his backpack and headed out the door, pausing as he shut it. Should he leave a note? After the abrupt end of the conversation, it seemed clear that it was just an indulgence on James’ part. But despite how discouraged he felt, Sam couldn’t stop himself from pulling out a piece of paper and a pencil.

It took him longer than usual to decide what to write.

_‘Hey, I’m sorry if I overstepped today. I know you were just being polite and—————-_

_So, I’ll be finished in three weeks. If you or Steve want to take a look before I seal it, go ahead. _ _<strike>I want you to be happy w</strike>— _ _So that you get what you are expecting._

_I apologize for making you uncomfortable._

_\- Sam.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I oop-- That ending, huh? Everything seemed to be going so well...


	9. martyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So far, he’d had a total of three conversations with James through doors. Nothing about the man’s demeanor seemed to suggest he was going to be changing that any time soon. Maybe if there was more time, maybe if Sam wasn’t working two other jobs and dealing with his own shit it could be different._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cutting it close with this one again. But, its because I was working on the next chapter so its totally okay.
> 
> If this feels like a tipping point, that's because it is. Enjoy!

Sharon had taken one look at Sam and decided they were going out for endless appetizers and cheap beer before he could even get a word out. She waited until the first plate of mozzarella sticks and jalapeños bites had appeared before getting straight to the point.

“You look like a wreck, Wilson.” She stated bluntly, half-bitten mozzarella stick pointed in his direction. “What’s up with you?”

Sam chewed slowly on a jalapeños bite, frantically trying to think of something. He’d been off since Sunday, even his coworkers had noticed. Sleep hadn’t been coming easy, his dreams less figurative and more impressions of things and feelings that he couldn’t explain. It was like every night he was drawn into the world of his paintings, but everything felt _wrong_. There was no comfort in them, only a deep sense of foreboding and the feeling of being lost.

He couldn’t explain that to Sharon, or anyone really. No one knew about his art, much less the situation with James. Only Steve, and he seemed to think the world of the other man, no matter how strange he was. Sam felt so awfully alone in trying to navigate the complexities of the situation, barely equipped for anything of this nature.

He looked up at Sharon through his eyelashes. She was watching him like a hawk. Her sharp eyes probably analyzing every movement, every hesitation, every single of breath. Being friends with a psychologist was literally the worst sometimes.

“It’s nothing.” Sam finally said with a sigh. “Just.. I met someone and misread a situation.”

Not bad as far as a half-truth went. He could see the flicker of surprise in Sharon’s eyes, before she leaned forward a hand under her chin.

“You met someone?” She sounded curious. “Just once? You seem pretty torn up about it.”

Sam winced, right, why would he be this distraught over someone he’d only met once. He bit his lip, trying to straighten out the paths in his head. Surely there was a way he could explain the situation without divulging any actual information? He just had to be careful about how he worded it.

“I’ve run into them a few times.” Sam admitted. “Uh, at a coffee shop. After dog walking on Saturdays. The first few times we met, we didn’t really talk. But then he said hi to me, and we kind of hit it off.”

Sharon took that all in and nodded, prompting him to continue.

“We didn’t get to talk a lot. He’s always in a rush, but he seemed nice.” Sam thought of James’ notes. Hearing his gentle voice, filled with concern the first time he’d ever spoken. Every interaction he’d had with the man had been pleasant and warm. Until the last time. “Uh, two weeks ago he got my coffee for me. I thought I’d repay him this weekend, but… But I think I screwed it up?”

Sharon’s brows knitted together. “How so?”

“I… I asked if he wanted to stay and talk.” Sam looked down at his hands on the table. Trying to keep calm. “But he left without saying anything.”

“Damn.” Sharon hissed sympathetically. She gestured to Sam’s water, silently prompting him to drink. “You did say he’s always in a rush. Maybe he didn’t have the time?”

Sam took a small sip of his water before sighing. “I get that. But I asked and he didn’t say anything. He just left.” He rubbed his temples, closing his eyes tightly. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“_Sam_, he bought you coffee once right? And you guys have talked? I doubt he hates you.”

“No, but he probably won’t talk to me again.” Sam bit out, his eyes stinging a little. “I just wanted to get to know him better.”

“Sam, you can’t beat yourself up about this.” Sharon admonished gently. “One, you barely know this guy. You see him once a week. You can’t let one interaction ruin everything else. Two, it might not have been you. Maybe he was just caught off guard and got nervous.”

Sam managed to peek up at her, considering what she had just said. If there was one word that described James, it would definitely be nervous. Maybe he had been too hasty in assuming that James left because he thought Sam was weird? Maybe James had just been overwhelmed and caught off guard. The smallest bit of hope fluttered in Sam’s chest.

“Anyway, you’ll find out this weekend right?” Sharon raised an eyebrow. “And theres nothing you can do about it until then so try not to beat yourself up about it, alright? Worry about it, hm, five minutes before you get to the coffee shop.”

That drew a laugh out of Sam and he smiled tentatively at her. she returned it, and picked up another mozzarella stick, before gesturing for him to eat.

“Let’s start with forgetting your mystery man now.” She clapped her hands together. “I need to tell you about my Family Psychology Professor. She’s retired Air Force too, you’d _love _her.”

Of course Sharon would know just how to perk Sam up, and he leaned in eagerly, letting his worries about James fade to the background.

x x x x 

Sam slept a little better after his night out with Sharon. His dreams still plagued him, but they didn’t last the whole night and he was able to get a semblance of rest. He went into work, and concentrated on the tasks at hand as much as possible. Occasionally his thoughts would drift back to James, but he remembered what Sharon had said. There was nothing he could do about the situation until Saturday, so why let it eat away at him.

He ended up in the studio later that night, surprised to see Steve was already sitting and waiting. His usually perfectly quaffed hair seemed a little ruffled, and the line of his shoulders tense. 

Sam gathered his supplies quietly, setting up his easel and nearly complete painting nearby, but didn’t get started. instead, he turned toward Steve, hands in his lap as he looked at the older man. His eyes flickered to Steve’s lap, where he was holding a sketchbook. Sam couldn’t quite see what he had been drawing from this angle, but the lines were sketchy and rough, like he was trying to work something out.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked gently, not wanting to startle Steve.

The older man looked up, his eyes were weary and he suddenly looked very much each of his forty years. He paused with his pencil pressing into the page. “Hm? Oh, yeah… Sorry, Sam.” He tried to smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. “Just had a rough few days.”

Sam nodded sympathetically, gripping the stool he was sitting on. “Anything I can do?”

Steve blinked, seeming to suddenly snap back to the present. He opened his mouth once, closed it and seemed to contemplate. After a few moments he answered. “Maybe?”

Now that was certainly a surprise. “Maybe?” He repeated back. “Okay, lay it on me.”

Steve seemed hesitant and he looked down at his sketchbook before slowly closing it and placing it on a nearby table. He folded his hands in his lap, brows drawn tightly over his eyes. It was almost worrisome, how quiet and contemplative Steve was being in this moment. But Sam could be patient, much like Steve often was with him.

“Don’t give up on him.”

Sam leaned forward, confusion written on his face. Steve had spoken so quietly, he wasn’t even sure if he’d heard correctly. “Uh, come again?”

“Sam,” Steve looked up at him, blue eyes almost begging. “Please don’t give up on him.”

_Him._ Oh, there could only be one person they were talking about. Sam felt his face heating up, and he gripped the seat tightly, almost painfully. He tried to hold Steve’s eyes, but couldn’t and looked away. What did that even _mean_? 

“Theres nothing to ‘give up’ on.” Sam couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Sam, please.” _God_, he’d never heard Steve so desperate. “You don’t understand. Aside from me and two other people, he won’t talk to _anyone_. I’m the only one he’s seen in person for _years.”_

Sam’s jaw clenched tightly. And what? He was just supposed to persist and fix it all? James wanted nothing to do with him, he’d made that clear enough last time.

“He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry.” Steve said, trying to draw Sam’s attention toward him. “He didn’t tell me why. But Sam, whatever happened between you—“

“Nothing.” Sam cut him off. “Nothing happened.”

_And thats just the problem._

He finally looked at Steve, the older man’s eyes were red. He looked so tired, and Sam felt a twinge of sympathy in his chest. It couldn’t be easy for him, being James’ only connection the outside world. If James refused to interact with other people, someone was taking care of any face-to-face obligations that he might have. That was probably all on Steve’s shoulders.

“Look,” Sam said, trying not to sound cruel. “I’m almost done the painting. You know I need he money, Steve. I can’t risk fucking up and pissing James off just because you think I can be his friend.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Sam shook his head.

“No, listen. I’ve got too much on my plate. I barely slept this week because I thought I said the wrong thing to him.” Sam admitted. “I can’t force him to like me. I can’t… fix him.”

Maybe he was being a little harsh. But it needed to be said before Steve got any wild notions in his head. Sam would be disappearing from James’ life in a few weeks time and it wouldn’t be healthy for either of them to continue this weird game they’d started. So far, he’d had a total of three conversations with James through doors. Nothing about the man’s demeanor seemed to suggest he was going to be changing that any time soon. Maybe if there was more time, maybe if Sam wasn’t working two other jobs and dealing with his own shit it could be different.

“I remember,” Steve started quietly after a few minutes. “The fourth painting you did in my class. You tried to explain it to everyone. You said it was like trying to find your way, and not seeing where you were going. Your classmates didn’t really get it. You were still refining your style..”

He paused and a ran a hand through his hair. He was looking down now, a soft sad smile on his lips. “I remember I showed it to Bucky. I didn’t tell him what you had said. But he stared at it for a long time. He said it was like ‘navigating a storm in the dark, backwards’.”

Sam’s eyes widened, his heart clenching tightly in his chest. He remembered being so embarrassed having to present his artwork. It was so clear that the full time students had no idea what he was doing in the class, and thought his paintings were confusing and undesirable.They had never been rude, just sort of stand-offish. If it hadn’t been for Steve, Sam would have been convinced he had no talent what-so-ever. Steve had never claimed to understand Sam’s work, only noting that he was impressed with the technique and intensity of what he was trying to portray.

But James had understood. The only other one to understand.

Fate was either very gracious, or very cruel in Sam’s case. And in the moment, he felt like the two options were balanced on a knife’s edge. His own actions would be the tipping point.

“Just try and talk to him.” Steve begged. “I’m not asking you to throw yourself at him. But just, if he tries to talk to you. Hear him out.”

Sam bit his lip, pretending he was considering. But in his head, he knew he had already made his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam, bud, I think you might be in too deep.


	10. shivering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sam swallowed thickly as he unconsciously leaned into the warm hand on his shoulder. Trust him? It was absolutely absurd, but Sam couldn’t see why not. He had been trusting this virtual stranger for over a month now. James had plenty of time to harm Sam before now if he had really wanted to. What was one more thing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like we've been building up to this chapter for a while. I also think that half-way through, ya'll are gonna hate me again. But only a little bit, pink promise! It may seem like I'm being extra mean to Sam, but good things are around the corner.
> 
> Un-beta'd as always!

Saturday dawned with gray clouds in the sky and the forecast calling for heavy storms later on in the afternoon. Sam had woken up with a tickle in his throat, feeling slightly weak-limbed despite his relatively good sleep the night before. He grimaced while showering and dressing, making sure to wear extra layers as it was fairly cold out. Scott had come into work with a cold that his daughter had passed onto him, and it seemed to be making the rounds in the store. Sam had basically doused himself in hand sanitizer every half-hour in an effort to stave off germs, but it seemed like it may have been futile.

He practically slept walked through walking Scooter and Stella, the two spaniels stopping every once in a while on their walk to give him what looked like suspiciously concerned looks. Once he got them settled at home, he blearily called for an uber to head over to James’ place. He wasn’t really excited about it. Not the possibility of confronting James or even doing any painting.

It was just Sam’s luck that it began pouring on the drive to James’. By time the driver was pulling up to the front gate, the rain was come down in sheets, windshield wipers barely making a difference in the heavy downpour. Sam climbed out into the rain, immediately regretting that he had forgotten an umbrella as the wind whipped the raindrops into his face.

Sniffling, he struggled to push the gate open, wrapping his arms around himself as he made his way up the stone path to the front door. He didn’t even realize his teeth were chattering until he he got to the door and hastily rung the bell. He only waited a minute before he reached for the doorknob to go inside, already soaked to the skin from the rainfall.

But before he could even push, he felt the doorknob slip from his fingers as the door swung open. Everything happened so dizzyingly fast, that he nearly stumbled as a large, thick towel was immediately thrown over his head and strong hands pulled him inside.

Sam wobbled in the darkness, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He reached up to try and pull off the towel when he felt hands grab his own to stop him. He shivered, the feeling of one warm flesh hand. But then other, was oddly cool and hard - a prosthetic maybe? For a moment, he just stood, completely covered as someone -presumably James, held his hands gently, but firmly.

“Sam, you idiot.” That was definitely James’ voice. He sounded disappointed, but also _worried? _“You shouldn’t have come here.”

Well that stung and Sam ducked his head even further, pulling his hands out of James’ grasp. He didn’t make any move to remove the towel, instead just using the ends to pat uselessly at his soaking wet clothes.

“Do you want me to leave?” Sam asked, unable to keep the bitter tone out of his voice. He could just call another uber. In fact, the driver who’d dropped him off probably hadn’t even gotten that far.

Suddenly, he felt James hands on the towel, gently using the cloth obscuring Sam’s vision to dry his face and hair. Sam shivered, choosing to believe it was from the cold and not the sudden intimacy of the situation.

“No.” James said finally. “I. I just..”

Sam sighed, and folded his arms over his chest. They were back here again, quicker than usual. He was sure their closeness was probably freaking James out. Maybe if Sam was feeling better he would be more sympathetic. But he was soaking wet and freezing, his throat felt raw and couldn’t see anything. 

“Your shivering.” James observation was so quiet, Sam almost missed it. “Sam,” He paused and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Trust me?”

Sam swallowed thickly as he unconsciously leaned into the warm hand on his shoulder. Trust him? It was absolutely absurd, but Sam couldn’t see why not. He had been trusting this virtual stranger for over a month now. James had plenty of time to harm Sam before now if he had really wanted to. What was one more thing?

“Okay.” Sam answered quietly and reached out a hand blindly for James to take.

He felt oddly relieved when James hand moved from his shoulder to grasp his hand. His palm was smooth, and his skin surprisingly soft. But then again, it wasn’t like he left the house much to do any intense labor. Sam tried not to stumble along awkwardly as James led him, walking slowly so that Sam could take his time. Sam was sure he looked stupid, letting himself be lead around with a towel draped over his head, but somewhere underneath his disgruntled demeanor he was in awe that this was even happening.

“Sam, I’m going to move you to the couch.” James said quietly, stopping and squeezing Sam’s hand. He gently guided Sam by his shoulders until Sam’s legs bumped lightly against a cushion. “Sit.” 

“Not a dog.” Sam grumbled before coughing a little, his throat feeling like sandpaper. He sat gingerly, surprised when his butt came in contact with a lush cushion. He leaned back, almost sighing at how absurdly comfortable the couch was. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“You’re sick.” James countered like that made any sense in response.

Sam would have denied it, but he coughed again, and brought a hand up to his chest. The air was getting stuffy underneath the towel and certainly wasn’t helping with his building congestion. “James, I gotta take this off.”

It was quiet for a second, and Sam could swear his heart was beating so loudly they could both hear it. Sam tried to focus on the sound of the rain hitting the windows as he waited for James to make up his mind.

“Just…wait a minute.” James muttered, sounding pained.

Sam sat back and closed his eyes, focusing on taking deep breaths. He could hear James moving around the room. The sound of curtains being drawn and a door being closed. After a few minutes, he felt the couch dip a little as James sat next to him, not touching but nearby.

“Okay.” James voice was quivering, soft and afraid. “You can take it off.”

Sam sighed in relief and moved his hands to start to pull the towel off. But then he hesitated, unsure. Was he prepared for what he was going to see? Sam was pretty good at schooling his features, but after such a long time, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop his reaction of seeing James for the first time. All he could do was try and reassure the other man that Sam wasn’t completely alarmed by anything he might see.

Stealing himself, Sam slowly pulled the towel off of his head, balling it into his lap to anchor himself. His breath caught, and then he sighed. Darkness, pitch black, darkness. The lights were off, and James had drawn the curtains tight. Even so, the storm meant the sky wouldn’t even let the barest hint of light creep through any cracks. Sam couldn’t see two inches in front of his face, much less what James looked like.

Sam groaned quietly, and brought a hand to his forehead, the barest beginnings of a headache starting to form. He glanced in the direction he knew James had sat, unsettled to know that the other man was so near and he couldn’t even see him. 

“Do you want me to leave?” Sam asked again, the unable to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

“No.” James replied, just as he had before. If anything, he sounded firmer this time.

“So you want me to stay?” Sam slid one hand over the couch cushion until his fingertips brushed the other man’s thigh. He needed the reassurance that he wasn’t just talking into thin air. This whole situation felt so unreal. Sam felt James jump slightly, but to his surprise, the other man didn’t move away.

“Yes.” James admitted quietly, a tremble in his voice. He gently placed his hand atop Sam’s. He was warm, his hand was larger than Sam’s but he was so careful.

Sam shivered, staring at the place where he knew their hands were but unable to see them. He wanted to laugh, or maybe even cry. Instead he just whispered into the dark. “James, what are we doing?”

James rubbed his thumb soothingly over Sam’s pinky.His voice was soft, bordering on apologetic. “I don’t know.”

x x x x

Eventually James got up, telling Sam he was going to get him tea and something for his throat. Of course James seemed to be able to navigate perfectly fine in the darkness, the soft sound of his footfalls eventually disappearing until Sam was sure he was alone in the darkness of the room. 

Sniffling, he used the moist towel to try and pat at his clothes some more. He was still cold, and his clothes were no closer to being dry than they were half an hour ago. If he was using his brain, he would have pulled out his phone and called for an uber to come and pick him up. It was obvious he was in no state to do any painting today.

But honestly he was exhausted. So absolutely drained both physically and mentally that he all he could do was lower himself onto the couch and curl up as tight as possible. Sam sighed, his head pillowed by soft cushions that gave the cheap, flat pillows he slept on at home a run for their money. He hugged his arms around himself, trying to find warmth as he drifted in and out of sleep.

Sam had no idea how long he had been out when he felt a hand on his forehead and a concerned ‘tsk’ above him. He blinked his eyes open, momentarily confused by the darkness before remembering the events that had transpired. He realized he was warmer than he had been before, though the sogginess of his clothes was still evident. Someone had draped a heavy comforter over his body and tucked it securely around him. The moist heat wasn’t exactly pleasant to wake up to, but at least it was warmth.

“James?” He rasped into the darkness, wishing for the life of him he could see the man.

“Don’t talk, Sam.” Came the quiet, but firm voice, not far from Sam’s face. He pulled his hand away. “I made you tea. And brought you cough drops.”

Sam almost smiled at how kind he was being, but it seemed like a moot point when he couldn’t see five inches in front of his face. “M’sorry I bothered you with this.”

There was quiet for a moment, almost like James had disappeared. But then Sam heard a loud exhale, bordering on frustration. “You need to take better care of yourself.” James said. “You couldn’t tell you were sick before you came?”

It would figure that one of the longest sentences James had said to him would be to admonish him about his own well-being. Maybe that was why he and Steve were such good friends. Sam closed his eyes, trying to relax against the throbbing tension in his forehead.

“I have a job to do.” Sam muttered quietly, but defiantly. ’S’almost finished.”

“I told you before.” James replied almost immediately. “It doesn’t need to be done so soon.”

If Sam didn’t know any better he would say there was a tinge of desperation to James’ voice, almost like he didn’t like the idea of Sam leaving. But Sam had to be imagining it. He remembered the last time he had tried to talk to James, how uncomfortable he had made anything. Even if Steve had tried to convince him of the opposite, he couldn’t believe that James really wanted to make the effort to get to know him. Look at them now, sitting in the dark, unable to see one another while Sam shivered in wet clothes under a comforter.

What even was this?

“I need to go home.” Sam finally said, ignoring James’ previous statement. He probably wouldn’t get it anyway. That Sam _needed_ the money, and couldn’t just prolong the painting to satisfy James need for occasional human contact. “I have work tomorrow.”

“_Sam._” James sounded both annoyed and concerned. “You _cannot_ go to work tomorrow.”

Hot tears pricked at the corner of Sam’s eyes. Oh, he knew he _shouldn’t_ go to work tomorrow, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn’t afford to miss work, not everyone was as forgiving as James about him not staying on schedule.

“Got bills to pay, buddy.” He trailed off with a pitiful coughing fit, breaths coming harsher as the congestion in his chest tighten. Sam curled into himself, a hand splayed over his chest, trying to relieve the pressure there. “Fuck.”

_“Idiot.”_ Sam heard James hiss, before he heard the man get up and stalk away, footfalls heavier than before. Sam tried to stay awake, really, he needed to get up and move, but there was nothing to be done. He could faintly smell peppermint nearby, most likely the tea James had made him and his throat ached to have some. 

With some effort, he pushed himself up on shaky arms and groped out towards wherever sensed the tea might be sitting. It wasn’t very well thought out, as no sooner as he reached did he feel himself tip over. Weak limbs barely flailed as he tumbled off the couch, his shoulder hitting the edge of something hard before he fell back onto the floor into a heap.

The last thing he heard was a panicked call of “Sam!” before darkness overcame him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I've basically spent ten chapters making Sam suffer. I feel so bad, but its gonna get better for him. I swear it!! (Bucky swears it!!)
> 
> Comments & kudos appreciated!


	11. seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Is… “ Sam licked his chapped lips, not quite able to look at Steve when the other man finally sat on the edge of the bed. “Is James okay?”_
> 
> _Steve’s face was unreadable for a moment before he sighed and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “He’s pretty shaken up.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK, I usually try to answer comments before I post but I am so damn excited for this chapter that I couldn't wait. I swear I'll answer the comments for this chapter. 
> 
> I won't say anything else, ya'll just enjoy!

Sam woke up to the generic trill of his ringtone echoing not far from his side. His face scrunched momentarily, his mouth feeling dry and his throat scratchy. His limbs felt heavy, and his body was awfully warm, he could feel sweat down the back of his shirt. But despite that, he felt comfortable, surrounded by soft bedding and fluffy pillows.

Fluffy pillows that he definitely did not own.

All at once, he stiffened, using a hand to feel around the bed. The sheets were impossibly soft, a thread count Sam was sure he’d never felt in his entire life. His face was practically melting into the soft pillow beneath it, and while the relative comfort enticed him to sleep more, he was quickly becoming aware that he had no idea where he was.

Sam blinked his eyes open slowly, sleep making his eyelids stick together. It was somewhat dark in the room, but he could just see rays of morning light peaking out behind the blinds of a window on the other side of the unfamiliar room.

The room was big, the walls where a gentle sky blue that he had never seen before, trimmed with cream. The floor was carpeted from what he could see, though the furniture was sparse. A wooden dresser, a comfortable looking gray armchair and a corner lamp. It was a nice room, if a little impersonal for the amount of space provided.

Sam reached up a hand to rub at his eyes, suddenly remembering his phone. He looked to his right and saw that his phone was sitting on a side table, charging. He clumsily managed to pick it up and squinted at the screen. One missed call. Steve.

“_Shit._” Snatches of memories from the day before flooded Sam’s mind. Coming to James’ house in the rain, talking to him in the dark and shivering on the couch. That meant it was Sunday. He still had a dog walking appointment, his shift at the store. He looked at the time, and panic flared in his chest. It was nearly twenty minutes past 10 am.

Sam turned over onto his back, and the effort of it made him collapse into the bed, breathing harshly. The more awake his body became, the more aware of just how awful he felt. His body ached terribly, and he was burning up under the heavy duvet. Groaning, Sam managed to push it down, at least letting his upper-half breath. He ran a hand over the soft material of his shirt, becoming aware that he was not wearing the same clothes as the night before. 

_Where am I?_ That was the most important question on his mind, because this didn’t look like any place he had ever been to before. Almost determined to try and get up again, Sam’s phone started to ring, giving him pause. He looked down at the phone, Steve again, and this time he answered.

“Hello?” He rasped before clearing his voice loudly. “Steve?”

“God Sam, you sound awful.” He sounded genuinely concerned, despite the ineloquent way he had spoken. “Did you just wake up?”

“Yeah.” Sam answered, his eyes flickering around the room. “Do you… do you know where I am?”

Sam almost winced at how odd that sounded, but he had a feeling his friend knew more about what was going on with Sam than Sam did.

“You’re still at Bucky’s place.” Steve explained. “You passed out last night.”

“Oh God.” Sam said practically under his breath. James must have freaked out. He was surprised he was even still here. “Did you come over?”

“Uh, not yet.” Steve answered a little sheepishly. “Bucky called me last night. I’m picking up medicine and some clothes for you. I should be over soon.”

Sam smoothed hand down his face as he tried to comprehend everything that he was hearing. He was in James’ house still, in the most comfortable bed he’d ever been in and he was still sick as a dog. So many things to think about and he still had deal with skipping out on his dog walking and most likely not being able to make it to work this afternoon.

“Don’t worry about work.” Steve said almost like he had read Sam’s mind. “Bucky and I figured it out. You need to get some rest.”

_I also need a paycheck_. Was on the tip of Sam’s tongue, but he didn’t want to sound ungrateful. He would just have to figure it out in the next coming weeks. Plus, he’d be done James painting soon enough and be getting paid.

God, James. How was he ever going to face the man again? Well, not face him per say. But how absolutely embarrassing. James probably thought he was completely incompetent by now.

“Right… I’ll try.” Sam said, closing his eyes. 

“See you soon, Sam.” Steve said gently, hanging up before Sam could continue to ask questions.

Sam put the phone aside, realizing just how big the bed was. He was curled up on the right, but there was so much space to the other side. He slept in a cramped twin that no man of his height should be forced into. But with space as premium in his apartment, concessions had to be made. It was sort of nice to be able to stretch out. He wished he weren’t so sick and could enjoy it.

Sam had no idea how long he lay there, breathing through the tightness in his chest. While he didn’t necessarily feel good, he still felt better than the day before. It was a wonder what clean clothes and comfortable bed could do for the attitude.

He was startled out of his drifting by a cautious knock at the door. He peeked on eye open and looked over, seeing that the door was shut. He waited for a moment, wondering if Steve had finally arrived and just let himself relax into the pillows. His throat hurt far too much to call anything at the moment.

The door opened, and Sam watched from his position in bed with half-lidded eyes, his fingers idly pulling at the edge of the soft shirt he was wearing. 

“He-“ The rasped greeting died on Sam’s lips the moment the figure stepped through the door.

It wasn’t Steve at all.

He could see the exact moment when the other man realized he was awake, the exact moment when James realized Sam could see his face. And all they could do was stare at one another.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat, though from shock or the congestion he wasn’t quite sure. His eyes widened fractionally, at the sight of James, frozen in mid-step in the doorway to the room. Sam had vague, fleeting thoughts of what James might look like, but nothing concrete. He had a handsome voice, strong ad reliable. Seeing him now, he tried to reconcile that voice with the person in front of him.

He was as tall as Steve, a little sturdier in build, though he slouched more pronouncedly than the other man did. He had a strong, rounded jaw, chin-length brown hair and a startlingly blue eye. The other was covered by a simple black eyepatch, it covered James’ eye and part of his forehead, a thick band holding it in place around his head. He could just make out a scar traveling from the edge of James’ hairline behind the eyepatch, presumably over his eye. It trailed down his cheek, splintering off into branches over the left side of his face, over his lips and down his chin. He could tell the scars probably extended down the left side of throat and to his chest. The areas around the scars were discolored, almost too pink and vaguely raw.

Sam’s eyes followed the trail of his body to where James was holding open the door. He remembering the odd, cool touch from the day before. And now he saw that it was a shining, metal prosthetic, gripping the wood so tightly Sam was sure it would splinter.

Sam couldn’t help but stare and drink in the sight of the man who had consumed his thoughts for the last few weeks. He wasn’t what Sam had expected at all. He was handsome, but _God_, did he looked terrified. Sam was pretty sure in the ten minutes that Sam had spent staring, James hadn’t blinked once.

“J-James..” Sam whispered, trying weakly to sit up.

His voice seemed to break whatever spell James was under and he sucked in a sharp breath. The fear in his face nearly broke Sam’s heart, but before he could say anything, the other man backed out of the room and slammed the door shut.

Sam eased himself back onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling as his mind tried to process what had just transpired. With trembling fingers, he brought his hand up to the left side of his own face, brushing against the skin of his cheek. Unbidden, tears welled up in his eyes and he couldn’t help but think. 

_I’m so sorry, James._

x x x x

The next time Sam woke up, it was to the soft sound of hissing steam nearby. He kept his eyes shut tightly, even as his body woke-up, so very aware of what had happened the last time he had been so careless. Somehow, seeing James for the first time, it put everything into perspective. It wasn’t that he was _horrified_, god no, it was more than he understood. He got why James was anxious, and Sam felt terrible at how unprepared either of them had been to face one another.

He couldn’t help but wonder how James had gotten the scars. Steve had mentioned the accident so off-handedly, that he hadn’t even considered how severe it might have been. 

Eventually, he opened his eyes just a sliver to see that it was actually Steve. The older man was fiddling with a humidifier on the side table, a bottle ofcough syrup and a pill bottle to the side. Sam sighed, feeling relieved and then feeling guilty that he felt relieved.

This whole thing was a mess.

“Hey, Sam.” Steve must have noticed that he was awake. His voice was hushed. “How are you feeling?”

_Like garbage, and not for the reason you think._ Sam managed to keep that to himself. Instead he took a deep shuddering breath, appreciating the humid air as it began to ease the congestion.

“Everything hurts.” He croaked out, knowing he probably sounded pitiful. “Thirsty.”

“I bet.” Steve murmured. He then reached down and pulled out a large bottle of water. “Got you water, some gatorade and ginger ale. Wasn’t sure how you were feeling.”

Sam nodded gratefully as Steve uncapped the water and handed it over carefully. His friend was oddly subdued as he then proceeded to help Sam take his medicine. He had brought Sam everything. Vic’s vapor-rub, soft tissues and cough drops. The only alarming thing was that he seemed to think Sam was _staying._

“Is… “ Sam licked his chapped lips, not quite able to look at Steve when the other man finally sat on the edge of the bed. “Is James okay?”

Steve’s face was unreadable for a moment before he sighed and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “He’s pretty shaken up.”

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Steve assured quietly. “Well, it kind of is.”

Sam felt miserable, he could have absolutely sunk into the bed at that moment and disappeared. He hated the idea that he had made James so uncomfortable in his own home.

“You scared him.” Steve continued, like he didn’t notice Sam slowly moving underneath the covers. “And he didn’t feel like he could do anything to help you. He was so worried.”

Sam paused, his hands gripping the covers tightly. Confusion made his brows knit together, though Steve wasn’t looking at him. Were they even talking about the same thing? 

“Uh, Steve…”

At that moment the door creaked open, and Sam just saw the tip of what appeared to be a dinner tray peaking out from the hallway. Sam’s body tensed again, and his eyes flickered over to Steve. The other man seemed to consider the door for a moment. He looked at Sam, blue eyes inscrutable before looking to the door again.

“You can come on in, Buck.” Steve said easily, ignoring Sam’s shock.

From outside, a slightly muffled voice. “Is Sam awake?”

“Yep.” Steve replied immediately. “And he’s probably starving.”

Honestly, in that moment, Sam’s appetite had all but disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll have no IDEA the floodgates that have opened. I'm ready, I'm sure your ready. Sam is more than ready, Bucky is (secretly) ready. Steve's been the most ready.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed that!! Tell me what you think! Your thoughts are appreciated.


	12. contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How long has it been,_ Sam wondered, _since anyone has touched you like this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news? New chapter! Yay!
> 
> The bad news? I'm going away for the weekend. Boo!
> 
> Yeah, I had hoped that I'd have some chapters stockpiled but, I've been cutting it pretty close with posting every night. So unfortunately I'll miss a few days. Honestly, I'm so proud of myself posting 12 days in a row I'm not to upset. We'll start up again next Sunday or Monday night depending on what time I get back.
> 
> In the mean time, please enjoy!

James wasn’t looking at him. Though it seemed less that he didn’t want to look at Sam, as that he didn’t want Sam to look at him. He had hesitated at the door for a minute or so before finally shuffling inside, head ducked low. His hair intentionally falling over his face to obscure as much of it as possible. He didn’t even look at Steve as he handed the tray of soup and crackers to his friend.

James made to turn and make his escape when Steve spoke up. “Ah, no, Bucky. You know I’ve gotta get out of here.” Sam didn’t think he’d ever heard Steve sound less apologetic than he did now. “You need to stay and make sure Sam doesn’t drown in his soup.”

Sam made an affronted noise and shot a glance at the older man. He wasn’t feeling great, but he wasn’t _that_ weak. Despite the ridiculousness of the statement, it seemed to give James pause. Sam turned his attention to him, trying not to stare but also wanting to drink in as much as him as possible. 

“Sit up a little bit, Sam.” Steve instructed, holding the tray. When Sam was comfortable he placed the tray in his lap and smiled kindly. “Bucky has everything under control. I’ll call.”

For a moment it looked like Steve was going to lean over and kiss his forehead, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he squeezed Sam’s shoulder gently with a soft “feel better” before heading toward James who was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room staring at the floor. Sam watched as Steve stopped for a moment and whispered something in Bucky’s ear before giving his friend a quick side-hug and exiting the room.

Then it was just the two of them.

The scent of chicken noodle soup was enticing, and the steam was doing wonders for his clogged nose, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to eat. James was still standing there, looking despondent, like he was waiting for Sam to pass judgement and he already knew it would be cruel. 

Sam frowned, unsure of what to do. “Hey, uh, Steve told me you took care of me last night.” He finally said roughly. “Thanks.”

James shrugged one shoulder awkwardly, but it was clear he was doing his best not to move. He had angled himself in such a way that his face was in shadow. It was almost disquieting that he wasn’t fidgeting, or shuffling. Just…waiting.

“I was like… 85 percent sure you were gonna just leave me in my wet clothes all night.” Sam tried to joke.

_That_ seemed to get James attention and he raised his head just a fraction, like he wanted to look at Sam. Obviously frustrated by his inability to glare, the other man folded his arms over his chest to emphasize his disapproval of that statement.

“If you had stayed at home none of this would have happened.”

Sam knew James was talking about more than just Sam ending up sick on his couch. He looked down at his bowl of soup. His stomach rumbled, having gone for a while without food. 

“Yeah I know.” Sam finally picked up his spoon and swirled it around in the broth. “Seeing me is such a hardship.”

He didn’t think about how needlessly cruel the jab was, and he regretted it almost immediately. James was quiet, so unsettlingly so that Sam had to look up. Now, James had actually raised his head, enough so that Sam could see the sad glimmer in his blue eye.

“You have no idea,” James’ voice was heartbreakingly soft. “I wanted to see you so badly, ever since…”

He stopped, and glanced to the side. Sam could just make out a blush on his unscarred cheek, it was rather endearing. He could admit that James’ injury wasn’t pretty, but Sam’s distress about it was more about his welfare. Even if it had happened years ago, it still looked painful - like something that had never truly healed. 

James sighed and walked across the room. Sam made an aborted sound to call him back before realizing that James was just grabbing the armchair near the wall. The other man picked it up with an ease that did something funny to Sam’s gut. He placed the chair near the side of Sam’s bed, turned so that he wasn’t directly facing the bed. Sam wondered if it was supposed to be for his benefit or James’.

“You need to eat.” James prompted after he sat down, gesturing to the bowl of soup. “Before it gets cold.”

Sam was so thrilled that James had even decided to stay that he didn’t hesitate any longer and began eating. The soup was delicious, warm, seasoned broth chock full of vegetables. He had to ask who had made it after her finished off the entire thing.

Sam watched James out of the corner of his eye as he ate. The older man sat with his hands folded in his lap, looking toward the door. His curtain of brown hair obscured his face from view. Sam supposed they could only take it one step at a time, it was a miracle that James had even agreed to be this close.

“Steve showed me your paintings. He thinks you're brilliant.” James began unprompted, then added quietly. “I do, too.”

Sam paused, a cracker half way to his lips and he looked over fully. If he weren’t so warm already, he imagined he’d be blushing. No matter how many times Steve complimented him, it always got him flustered. And to hear the absolute admiration in James’ voice….

“He showed me one picture of you painting. He started talking about your process and technique…” James trailed off and then snorted. “I took one look at your face and stopped listening. You were beautiful.”

Sam nearly joked on the dry cracker in his mouth and brought his hands up to cover the crumbs that came sputtering out. He knew that Steve took pictures of his classes. They were used for the school website and advertising. But he hadn’t considered himself to be one of the best candidates for that sort of thing. He didn’t think his type of art would really entice anyone to want to apply to art school.

And, as for the last part. He couldn’t even wrap his head around that one. It hadn’t occurred to him that while he had never known what James looked like, James knew what he looked like. Perhaps if he were more shallow it might boost his ego to know that James was more reluctant to show himself because he thought Sam was beautiful. In reality, it just saddened him.

“The dark circles and constant state of panic bring out my eyes.” Sam tried to lighten the mood. He set the try aside on the huge bed and leaned back into the pillows. He felt deliciously full, and drowsy. “I’m guessing you're a little less impressed up close, huh.”

James turned his head only slightly, just so he could look at Sam intensely. “You are so much more beautiful in person.”

“Oh.” Sam murmured softly, and his heart nearly beat out of his chest right there. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to calm himself down. He felt like a pre-teen with his first crush.

“Why don’t you get some more rest.” James didn’t phrase it as question. He stood slowly, and passed the bottle of gatorade Steve had left over to Sam. He then moved around the bed to go pick up the tray from Sam’s other side.

Before James could escape, Sam slipped a hand over and touched his wrist gently. James seemed so surprised he looked up, eye widening in alarm and wonder. This close, Sam could see the rough texture of the scars, the white lines they painted over the left side of soft pink lips.

Sam smiled, tender and reassuring. “Thanks, James.

James just nodded mutely, continued to stare at Sam for another moment and then picked up the tray and left the room.

x x x x 

Sam’s eyelids fluttered as he swam awake to the feel of a cool compress against his forehead. He couldn’t help but groan softly, the damp cloth feeling like a balm against his heated skin. His chest was tight and he felt congested again, problem signaling that it was time for more medicine. The room was darker then when he had gone to sleep, bathed in a gentle orange light that was easy on his watery eyes.

He looked up blearily to see James standing above him, his face slightly obscured as he held the compress to Sam’s head. Sam couldn’t help but smile tiredly. Sure, he had thought James was sweet for leaving out coffee for him, but the fact that the man was actively nursing him made something flutter in his heart. Maybe it was just the extra mucus, but he was willing to bet it was something else entirely.

“G’morning.” Sam slurred and then yawned widely. “Evenin’. What time isit?”

“Around 5pm.” James answered quietly. He slowly moved his hand away from Sam’s forehead, only to cup Sam’s cheek gently. Even with only one eye visible, his gaze was intense, almost mesmerizing. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit.” Sam sighed. He had hoped he would feel be starting to be on the mend, but whatever Scott had passed onto him was intense. “Sweaty, too.”

“You’re still too warm.” James murmured concerned.

James started to move his hand away from Sam’s cheek and he whined, a low pitiful noise. Normally Sam might be mortified, but honestly, this was basically a dream come true. He might be disgustingly sick, but just last week he had been sure he had driven James away. 

“Don’t leave.” Sam rasped, trying to convey what he meant with his eyes. “I’ve wanted to see you for so long.”

James barked a dismissive laugh, obviously unbelieving. “There’s nothing worth seeing.”

“S’not true.” Sam responded vehemently as his condition would allow. He wriggled a hand from under the covers and reached toward James’ arm, tugging weakly for him to move closer. A smile grew on his lips as James obediently dipped closer, like he was drawn to Sam as well. ‘Wanted to see you. Be with you.”

James froze, his face doing something complicated that Sam couldn’t quite name. Finally the older man sighed and closed his eyes. Sam took that opportunity to reached up and gently touch the smooth, uninjured side of James’ cheek. He didn’t want to overstep, but he desperately wanted him near. He couldn’t help but be surprised when James whimpered quietly and leaned into the touch, shivering like he was cold.

_How long has it been_, Sam wondered, _since anyone has touched you like this?_

After a moment, James’ eyes blinked open and he stared down at Sam. His eyes were slightly wet, and he looked so lost it almost broke Sam’s heart. James gently took Sam’s hand and placed it back on the bed, patting it firmly.

“You’re still sick.” James tone was slightly reproachful. “I’m going to run you a bath.”

Sam didn’t protest, as he was too tired. But he was unable to hide his disappointment as James moved away, making sure Sam’s tissues and drinks were in reach. He closed his eyes as James dimmed the lights just before leaving the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll let you in on a secret. Bucky has the biggest crush in the world. I mean, it is Sam Wilson so who wouldn't?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	13. longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The entire lower floor of the house was a ruse, so that if anyone ever did come in they truly would not be able to conceive of the sort of person who lived there. Just from the two rooms upstairs that he had seen so far, Sam could tell that James had an affinity for the color blue, which was a whole lot more information that Sam had gotten in three weeks of talking to the man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I had a lovely time over the weekend. I went to a waterpark, did some slides, dranks some drinks and hung out with friends. Now we're back to the grind! Not that writing this story is a hardship, I missed it incredibly.
> 
> Warning, this chapter is incredibly soft. And I think ya'll will enjoy some of the insights you get during this part.
> 
> Thanks for your patience and I hope ya'll enjoy!

The bathtub was unwieldy, and the bathroom might as well have been nearly the same size as Sam’s apartment. It seemed that at every turn Sam was getting more and more of an idea of just how rich James was, and he had no idea what the older man even did. 

James didn’t seem to have any outward reaction to how massive his bathroom was or Sam’s reaction to it. He seemed more concerned with holding Sam up, helping him out of the soft bathrobe he’d lent him and getting him into the lukewarm bathwater. 

Sam, despite his astonishment as how extravagant the bathroom was, practically melted as he stepped into the bath. As he let his body sink into the lightly peppermint scented water, he glanced up at James who was hovering, looking clearly concerned - like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go. Sam shot him a weak smile and leaned his head back against the tub’s rim.

“I’ll be fine man, really, you’ve done way more than you needed to.” Sam insisted just before breaking into an awful coughing fit. 

He reached out to grab he slippery edge of the tub, water splashing as his body convulsed with the intensity of coughs rattling from his chest. He barely registered James’ hands on him, steadying him, seeming about ready to carry Sam out of the water as if he were in danger of drowning. Sam’s heart shuttered in his chest as he calmed down, trying to catch his breath. James’ arms were a steadying comfort, and Sam couldn’t help but lean into his touch. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so sick.

Eventually his breathing evened out and he glanced over at James who was crouched at the side of the tub, leaning over in a way that looked uncomfortable just so he could keep a steady hold on Sam.

“Y-your arm..” Sam muttered, stricken that James’ might have compromised himself just to help him.

James blinked his eye slowly, seeming confused before he looked down. Suddenly his face contorted and he moved his prosthetic away from Sam’s skin like it burned. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

_Oh._ All of a sudden Sam felt awful for having said something without explaining. “No, I don’t mind.” He insisted. “I just don’t want it to get ruined.”

James’ stared at him, lips slightly parted for a moment as though he were processing what Sam had just said. Suddenly, he ducked his head, his prosthetic hand clenching on the edge of the tub.Concerned, Sam tried to sit up, reaching out to James to attempt to reiterate that everything was okay when James suddenly looked up at him. His blue eye looked shiny, and wet, a faint pink blush appearing on his cheek. 

For a moment Sam was starstruck, and it wasn’t until he caught his eyes drifting to James’ mouth that he realized how close they were to one another. James’ flesh hand was still under his arm to keep him from slipping into the water. Sam’s hand hovered near James’ shoulder, wanting to reach out. 

“Sam.” James murmured, soft and low, breaking the quiet tension that had built between them.

Sam felt his face heat up, nothing to do with being sick and pushed away, ducking down into the tub trying to hide his embarrassment. He was sick, he wasn’t thinking straight - at least he tried to rationalize. He couldn’t look at up at James, afraid of the pity or reproach he might see on the older man’s face. James was already doing so much for Sam, he shouldn’t have to deal with Sam’s unfortunate crush.

_He thinks you're beautiful._

Sam’s mind supplied. It lit a bit of hope in Sam’s heart, but he tried to tamp it down. Sam thought Steve was handsome as hell, but that didn’t mean he wanted to bone the guy. James said he was beautiful, thats it. Just like art, looks could be admired with out the need to possess.

“Are you okay?” James asked quite suddenly, causing Sam to look up.

The man had stood up, but he was looking down at Sam with an unreadable expression. There was something searching there, but Sam couldn’t tell what he might be looking for. Despite knowing that James had undressed him the night before and helped him into the tub just now, it was at this moment that he felt exposed - vulnerable.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam said, rushed. “I’m fine, I swear. I’ll holler if I need anything.”

James raised an eyebrow, but otherwise his expression remained the same. “I’ll be right back.” Was all he said before turning and heading out the door, leaving it wide open just in case.

Sam let himself relax against the side of the tub, trying not to dwell too much on the current situation he found himself in. It was hard not to. Only a week ago he had been sure he was going to finish this commission without ever having seen James’ face. Now here he was, lounging in the guy’s tub like he belonged there. It was fascinating, the difference in decor and vibrance upstairs compared to the relative blandness of the downstairs. The bathroom was a beautiful sea green, with cream accents. Plush turquoise towels complimented the underwater color scheme. James even had decorative seashells in a basket on the toilet cistern. 

The entire lower floor of the house was a ruse, so that if anyone ever did come in they truly would not be able to conceive of the sort of person who lived there. Just from the two rooms upstairs that he had seen so far, Sam could tell that James had an affinity for the color blue, which was a whole lot more information that Sam had gotten in three weeks of talking to the man.

_Sucks that me almost dying was what it took to get him to open up._

Sam knew he was being melodramatic, but he felt the absurdity of the situation gave him a pass this time.

He wasn’t sure how long he soaked in the water before he heard the sound of footsteps and looked toward the door. James had come back, carrying several items in his arms. Sam watched curiously as James sat the items down on the toilet seat before turning around and approaching Sam with what looked like a travel pillow. 

“Sit up.” James motioned with a hand. Apparently deciding Sam couldn’t do it for himself, he used a hand to gentle lift the back of Sam’s head and slip the pillow around the back of his neck.

“Uh, James, I don’t think this is —“ Sam couldn’t really look toward him anymore, with how his head and neck were cushioned by the soft pillow. But he could see James moving back to the other things he had brought with him. 

“Shouldn’t I be getting out now?” Sam tried again as James approached carrying a bottle and jar with some of the most flowery decoration Sam had ever seen. 

James didn’t answer him as he reached down to let some of the water of the tub, waiting until about 1/4 had gone down before running the water again, this time somewhat warmer. Finally, James looked over at him as he uncapped the bottle and poured a liberal amount of yellow liquid into the rising water.

“You need to relax.” James sounded almost exasperated, but there was a fond edge to his tone now. “You wouldn’t be this sick if you were taking better care of yourself.”

Sam could feel himself bristling slightly, even as the pleasing scent of vanilla began mixing with the faded peppermint. “Working three jobs doesn’t exactly give me time for spa days.”

That seemed to take James by surprise. The older man sat the oil down and then sprinkled a few tiny clear rocks into the water. “Three jobs? You and Steve only said anything about the retail one.”

Sam couldn’t help but let his eyes fluttered closed as the water rose to his chest, the scent of vanilla surrounding him. He let out a soft sigh, mumbling. “Not enough for everything.” Sam said by way of explanation. “I walk dogs on the weekend.”

James turned off the water once it had reached Sam’s neck, though he didn’t move from his spot at the edge of the bathtub. He just sat an observed Sam, watching the younger man’s eyes close as the tension slipped from his body. 

“You seem like a dog person.” James observed quietly. Sam didn’t answer, and James knew he had probably nodded off. A nice soak, and relaxing scent could do wonders for the overtired and anxious body, James knew from experience.

With a sigh, James rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wondering what the hell he was even getting himself into. They were both getting in too deep. James had harbored this sort of unhealthy obsession with Sam from the moment Steve had introduced him to the man’s artwork. Even before he had seen a picture of the other man, just seeing the paintings had been enough to draw him in. He had never had an experience so powerfully earthshaking as seeing Sam’s art, even as just a picture of Steve’s phone.

James watched Sam for only a second more before he got up and slid his phone from his pocket. A few texts from Steve which he hadn’t answered, asking how he was holding up. And a slew of work emails he still needed to answer sooner rather than later. Steve could wait, James selfishly wanted to keep his time with Sam to himself. Once Sam had shown he wasn’t repulsed by James, he couldn’t find it in himself to fight his desire to get closer to Sam even if he knew it was a bad idea.

Work had been pretty much forgotten as he dealt with the situation with Sam. He’d spent nearly the entire night worrying about the other man. Wondering if he needed to go to the hospital, with only three calls to Steve able to calm him down.

He sighed and slid his phone back into his pocket. He would let Sam rest before rousing him to get him back into bed. For now though, he needed to change the other man’s sweat soaked sheets and tidy up the area so that Sam had a comfortable place to come back to. All of this was the least he could do for someone who had shown him such generous kindness.

x x x x 

James let Sam rest for about twenty minutes before he went and roused him from his soak. The water had cooled by then and started draining, though Sam was so exhausted he hadn’t woken up until James lightly shook his shoulder.

James was sure his heart was beating so loudly that Sam could hear it. His absolute amazement at Sam trusting him and being close to him was like an adrenaline rush. He knew he should be guilty, touching Sam under the pretense of just helping him, and he did his best to do everything as clinically as possible. But with Sam sleepily leaning into him as James toweled him off, it was so hard to see the situation as anything but intimate.

Sam wasn’t small by any means, but he fit so perfectly in James’ arms that it was so easy to pretend for a moment that this whole thing was _real._ Maybe it was too much, too soon, and James had long since given up on the concept of fate. But these moments with Sam felt like something so wondrously ethereal that they had to mean _something._

He helped Sam to the guest bedroom, only just resisting the urge to scoop the man into his arms. Sam was still drowsy, his eyes fluttering open and closed, leaning into James like he trusted him. James ignored the lump in his throat as he helped Sam onto bed the edge of the, the fresh new sheets cool and dry. Never before had he been happier that he hadn’t been cheap about getting sheets for the guest room, even knowing only Steve would be staying there.

Before Sam got too comfortable, he fetched the bag of clothes that Steve had brought from Sam’s apartment. Inside, the only thing even resembling pajamas were a worn, over-washed t-shirt and black athletic shorts. Neither thing seemed particularly comfortable to sleep in. 

“Wait here.” James whispered, helping Sam get more comfortable sitting up against the headboard. He hurried back to his own room, trying not to think too much about the implications as he gathered a soft sleep-shirt and shorts from his own drawers and brought them back to Sam’s room. 

He tried not to smile at the way Sam’s head was lolling off the side, and almost felt bad about rousing Sam to help him get dressed. Sam was all heavy-limbs and easy compliance, James could have cried if it weren’t so embarrassing. Before long, he was tucking Sam under the covers, making sure that the tissues and gatorade were within in reach. 

He hovered nearby for a moment, tempted to stay and rationalizing in his own head that he should be nearby just incase. But even that excuse seemed desperate, and James knew he could no longer ignore the emails or he would start getting voicemails and that was the last thing he wanted. With one last longing look, James headed out the room, keeping the door opened just slightly so that he would hear Sam if he needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love two idiots pining for one another. They'll get the hang of it.
> 
> Curious to see if anyone can guess Bucky's job >____>. I don't think I've telegraphed it very much, but there is like...one big, kinda right in your face but also not obvious clue?


	14. breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So,” Sam cleared his throat, drawing James out of his thoughts. “Is the whole ‘Country Living Magazine’ decor a cover-up? Because I won’t lie, I had a hard time believing anyone actually lived here for a while._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choo! Choo! Here comes the domesticity train pulling into the station. I hear ya'll like pinning and tenderness and boy do I have a treat for you.

Sam yawned, rubbing the sleep crust from his eyes as he looked at his phone. Nearly 8am on Monday morning, a full night’s rest and more. He was feeling much better since the night before, being able to rest was finally kicking his immune system back into gear. Now he just had to start dealing with the fallout of missing both jobs and hoping it didn’t reflect too poorly on himself.

He took the time to answer some texts, his sister, Sharon and then Steve, of course. It was odd to be up so early on a Monday, he usually let himself sleep in to be ready for the night shift. Sam sighed at the thought. He was definitely feeling better, which meant there was no excuse for him to be staying around and avoiding real life any longer. 

Yesterday had felt like a dream. Even as sick and feverish as he was, Sam couldn’t remember being that cared for and comfortable since he was a child. His life had been non-stop since he’d decided to join the Air Force, and everything from then on had been one struggle after another. He thrived in the activity of it all, afraid of what would happen if he stopped. But last night had been a sudden reminder of how it felt to just exist and _breathe_.

Sam smiled a little to himself, thinking of James. It had been so utterly domestic, how the other man had taken care of him. Sam thought it should have been more awkward, but James certainly didn’t seem to think so. If anything, the older man seemed pleased to do it, craving the gentle contact just as much as Sam did.

Of course, it was probably because James rarely saw anyone, much less touched them. Sam couldn’t read into it anymore than that.

This was just a fantasy, he had to remind himself. A sweet little reprieve from life, where the rooms were large and beautiful, the beds were soft and a handsome near-stranger watched over you. It was like a fairytale, one that would soon come to an end.

Determined not to sit around any longer, Sam slowly pushed himself out of bed. His legs felt a little stiff, and there was some soreness in his body, but otherwise he felt pretty good. He headed across the room, and down the hall to where he remembered the large bathroom was. Just as the day before, he was overwhelmed by the size and elegance of it. It hit him again, how very much he didn’t belong in such a lovely place.

Trying not to dawdle, Sam went the bathroom and then washed his hands at the sink. He noticed a packaged toothbrush nearby and smiled, happy to be able to get the musty taste out of his mouth. While brushing his teeth, Sam looked down at the clothes he was wearing. The shirt was a bit loose, while the pants were a little tight. They were an incredibly soft material, nothing that Sam could have dreamed of owning. The fibers felt like pure butter against his skin.

After rinsing out his mouth, Sam debated on where to put the toothbrush. Take it with him? Trash it? In the end, he gingerly just let it back on the sink, not wanting to be presumptuous about anything. James would throw it out when he came by.

As he exited the bathroom, Sam nearly found himself stumbling into James. The other man looked just as startled to see Sam in the hallway, his eye widening before narrowing reproachfully. 

“Why are you out of bed?” James folded his arms over his chest, seeming truly perturbed.

“I had to go to the bathroom.” Sam answered, a little amused. James didn’t seem mad, he seemed _concerned._ Sam supposed he must have been pretty bad off the last two days. “I’m feeling much better.”

James hummed, sounding skeptical. Then he reached out his flesh hand to feel Sam’s forehead. Sam’s breath caught in his throat, as he stared cross-eyed up at the hand, trying not to lean in.

“You’re still a little warm.” James concluded, taking a moment before slowly pulling his hand back.

“Your house is warm.” Sam retorted, knowing that his fever was well and truly gone.

“My house is a reasonable 68 degrees.” 

James looked so serious that Sam had to chuckle, putting a hand to his chest even as James continued to look incredibly serious. He couldn’t help but smile up at the man, shaking his head.

“Don’t most people keep it at either 65 or 70?” Sam asked. Not that he had much experience. His own apartment followed the seasons. Perpetually cold in the fall and winter and warm in the spring and summer. Joke he might, but James’ house was comfortable as hell.

“Anyway,” James groused, steering away from the subject. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Sure.” Sam’s stomach rumbled in agreement. He hadn’t eaten much yesterday.

“Go lay down.” James motioned toward the guest bedroom. “I’ll bring something up—“

“Woah, woah, wait.” Sam reached out as James started to turn away. He touched the man’s shoulder lightly, smiling a little at the surprised look in James’ eye. “Why don’t I help? You’ve been doing so much for me.”

“I can do it myself.” James sounded a little defensive. Sam wondered just how overbearing people must have been after James’ accident.

“I don’t doubt that. You’ve been taking care of me for like a day and a half.” Sam said. “Let me take care of…”

Sam trailed off, suddenly realizing what he was implying. He would have backed off, but he saw the considering look on James’ face. The other man took a few seconds to think before nodding his acceptance and gesturing for Sam to follow after him.

x x x x 

Working in the kitchen with James felt both bizarre and oddly familiar. Sam had spent enough time there that in some ways he felt a little comfortable. But then, he couldn’t mask his surprise when James revealed that there was actual food stocked in the refrigerator. The kitchen was always fastidiously clean and Sam had somehow convinced himself the entire bottom floor was just for show, he couldn’t imagine that James actually prepared anything on these pristine marble countertops.

But James had food a plenty and directed Sam to take care of coffee duty, with a smirk that suggested that it was some hilarious joke. James popped bagels into a toaster he pulled out from the cupboards, and then got to worry dicing up a variety of fruits into a medium-sized bowl. Sam made the coffee, and then feeling bold, searched for plates for the bagels. He let out a small “Yes!” when he found them, feeling his face warm when he caught James’ looking at his with amused fondness.

James led Sam to an elegant dining room he hadn’t noticed beforehand. It was a slightly more intimate room, though a little more extravagant than the others. The dining table could easily fit eight people, and there was a two-tiered chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A soft, if bland painting of a sunrise over a grassy field hung on one wall of the room, while a fireplace sat on the other wall. It was nice, if completely devoid of personality like the rest of the first floor.

James waited until Sam sat down to sit next to him, making sure the uninjured side of his face was closest to Sam. It pained him a little to see James still so concerned about Sam finding him unpleasant to look at when it was very much the opposite. Still, they had made so much progress in such little time, if something like this made James comfortable, Sam couldn’t complain.

They sat in companionable silence for a little, eating their simple breakfast. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fresh fruit like this, it felt like a delicacy. On mornings when he even bothered to eat breakfast, he had a stash granola bars or even cereal whenever he remembered to pick up fresh milk.

“Your going to spoil me.” Sam sighed almost dreamily after finishing his bagel. He meant it as a joke, but James’ face was serious when he looked over. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Just.. y’know. The bath, the breakfast…” Sam fumbled a little bit to explain. He grabbed his coffee mug and held it between his hands. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

James shrugged, and speared a piece of strawberry with his fork and ate it. He glanced over at Sam, noticing he was still looking at his coffee contemplatively. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, James.” Sam looked up, smiling. But James’ could tell there was a sadness in his eyes that he was trying desperately to cover up.

There was so much James wanted to say to him. To assure him that everything was _fine_ and that Sam didn’t owe him anything. But he held his tongue. He knew if he started, he would never stop. He’d tell Sam how much he enjoyed him being here, how taking care of him seemed to give James a purpose he hadn’t had in five years. How he hated the idea of Sam leaving and working so hard that he got himself sick all over again. How James would give anything—

No, he couldn’t say that to Sam. At least not yet. They needed time to let this whole thing breathe. For all his happiness over Sam not being repulsed by him, the anxiety of having someone who wasn’t Steve in his house still gnawed at him. He knew he would crash sooner, rather than later and he didn’t want Sam around to see that.

Sam still had to finish the painting. James still had time to make this work.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat, drawing James out of his thoughts. “Is the whole ‘Country Living Magazine’ decor a cover-up? Because I won’t lie, I had a hard time believing anyone actually lived here for a while.”

James’ furrowed his brow and looked around the room. It wasn’t really his personal style, but he also didn’t spend much time down on the first floor. “No, I..” He paused, unsure of his next words. “I didn’t decorate it. I.. it was always intended as a hosting place? Sort of. I asked the decorator to make it look respectable.”

And then the accident had happened and James had cut everyone off from coming to the home except Steve and even then it took weeks before he let his oldest friend inside. He hadn’t even thought about how the first floor would look to an outsider, but now that he looked around he could see how barren and half-finished it looked. To be honest, he had never intended the home to be a permanent living space. His apartment in the city had been his main dwelling. But after everything, he had just wanted to go away and not be bothered.

“Hosting, huh?” Sam hummed. He could sort of see that, nice intimate parties for fancy rich folks. He chuckled a little under his breath. “I’m surprised you wanted one of my paintings in here. Feels like something by Steve or a real artist might be a better conversation piece.”

James turned to look at him so fast his hair fluttered around his face. The look in his eye was caught somewhere between disbelief and concern. “You _are_ a real artist.”

Sam blinked, surprised at how intense James became so quickly. “I mean, I do art..’ Sam said, looking away like he was embarrassed. “But I’m not… I just do it because,”

Sam paused, and he seemed so unsure that it made James’ heartache. Steve was never really one to divulge personal information, so James had made a lot of assumptions about Sam before meeting him. He had been sure for some time that Sam was at least a part-time student at Steve’s University. A young artist still making his way in the world. But the more James learned, the more it seemed obvious that Sam spent most of his days doing inferior work that someone of his obvious talent should not.

The thought of it didn’t sit right with James. He wondered how Steve, with all his connections, had let it go on for so long.

“Steve told me I would be your first commission.” James said. “I couldn’t believe it. Your work should be hanging in galleries.”

James could see, even with Sam’s bowed head that disbelief was written clear on his face. He frowned unable, to contain what he felt like was the truth. “You shouldn’t be wasting time with menial work like _retail_ when you should be creating.”

Sam’s body tensed suddenly, and James wondered if he had maybe said too much, too soon. He immediately tried to think of a way to backtrack, but when Sam looked up at him he knew it was too late. That beautiful face, whose features were usually so open and welcoming was closed off. 

“That _menial_ work pays for my bills so I can live somewhere and eat.” Sam ground out, eyes narrowed. “I can’t sit around and wait for someone to decide my shit is worth a damn. No one else can pay my way, but me.”

Sam looked down, his hands clenched into fists on the table as he ground out. “Painting may be what I love, but love isn’t enough to survive on. Not for someone like me.”

James felt his heart constrict and he yearned to reach out for Sam. _I’ll do anything._ He wanted to say. But before he could offer anything, Sam suddenly stood up, still not looking at him. He watched at the younger man massaged at his temple before turning to look at James.

“Sorry, I’ve wasted your time.” His voice sounded so distant and hollow that it made James’ blood run cold. “I…” His voice softened a little. “I should go. I’ve got work tonight.”

“S-Sam..” James started, but the other man was already heading out of the room and then finally the crash came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW before anyone says anything!! I promise this ain't nearly the devastation it seems to be. These idiots love each other, you think they'll be able to stay away for that long??


	15. sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But this was a picture, dated about six years ago. Steve was who he first recognized, decked out in a nice black suit, his arms around two other people. One was a gorgeous red-head in a smart, black cocktail dress who was smirking more than smiling at the camera._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta admit, this was one of my favorite chapters to write so far. It gets a little sad near the middle, but I'm sure the ending will more than make up for it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sam had said goodbye before he left.

It was probably the only thing that kept James from being sure he had completely fucked it all up. After Sam had gone upstairs and James had sat in the dining room feeling sick to his stomach, he was sure he wouldn’t be hearing from Sam until the next Saturday. And even then he wasn’t sure if the other man would talk to him after he basically insulted him for making a living. James could admit, cooped up in this house, that not everyone had the same fortune as he did.

Despite the things James had said, he heard Sam call out a farewell from the hallway before the front door closed and James was alone in the house once again. 

Eventually, he managed to pull himself together enough to take the empty dishes to the kitchen. He washed them, dried them and put them away before cleaning up everything else so that it was spotless. Once he was done, James looked around, thinking about what Sam had said. The only thing he left out on the counter was Keurig, because Sam used it and he wanted Sam to be able to find it. He had never considered that keeping everything else neatly put away might make the place seem uninhabited. 

Realizing he was still trembling, James headed upstairs, pausing at the precipice to look down the hall towards the guest bedroom. It was empty now, just like the whole house and he felt his stomach curl uncomfortably. Two days with Sam, and the house had seemed to bloom with life in a way that it never did when it was just James moving around the place. Now, he was alone again, with only his own footsteps and voice to remind him that there was life here at all.

He went to his room, shutting the door behind him and made his way over to his drafting desk, looking down at the blueprints he had abandoned last Friday. He had been too keyed up anticipating Sam’s visit. The younger man was at the forefront of his mind more often than not lately, and James found himself increasingly looking forward to their interactions week after week. But he had been so frightened of revealing himself and forfeiting that little bit of human contact that he nearly made himself sick with anticipation every time Sam came over.

Terrible conditions to get any work done, and he usually ended up answering emails during the weekend because of it. It was Monday though, and he needed to get to things done. It was only a first draft, and the emails he was receiving were getting a little more passive-aggressive than he would normally put up with.

_Maybe this will help take my mind off of…everything._ James considered as he opened the drawer and pulled out his pencils and rulers in order to get to work. Just a few hours of this to decompress and he could figure out how to make it up to Sam later.

x x x x 

Working while recovering meant that Sam was more exhausted after his shifts than usual. In some ways it was blessing, since it meant he had a little less time to dwell over how he completely overreacted to James on Monday. As soon as he’d left the house he had felt guilty about the tone he had taken with the other man, especially after everything James had done to help him. He knew it was part pride, part embarrassment that had gotten him so defensive. James had obviously been trying to compliment Sam in his own way. It didn’t make the insinuation that the work Sam did was somehow beneath him okay, but he knew it hadn’t been said with malice.

He tried to remember Sharon’s advice. There was nothing he could do about it until they met face to face, or at least thats what he had told himself for most of the week. Wednesday dawned, and by the time Sam’s afternoon shift was over he was exhausted. He knew there was no way he was going to be able to muster the energy to catch the bus into Steve’s studio.

Instead, he texted his friend, citing that he still wasn’t feeling well and that he wanted to try and get some more rest. Steve was appropriately agreeable, and told him to rest as much as he needed. Sam was ready to curl up into bed and watch some youtube videos until he fell asleep when a thought occurred to him. 

_[Sam]: hey steve. can i ask you something?_

_[Sam]: if you say ‘you just did’ i’m changing your name in my phone to Dad Jokes._

_[Steve]: Darn, you got me. What can I do for you, Sam? :)_

_[Sam]: ……….._

_[Sam]: can you give me james #?_

_[Sam]: i want to text him and thank him for last weekend._

Sam left out the part about apologizing. Steve didn’t need to know all the details about what had gone down after he left.

_[Steve]: I’m surprised you hadn’t asked before._

_[Steve]: I’ll send it now._

Steve sent over the number promptly, as promised before sending Sam a follow-up ‘feel better’ text. For a while, Sam just stared at the number, suddenly unsure of what he should do. If James had wanted Sam to contact him by phone, surely he would have offered his number before? This was probably some huge breech of trust? But then again, Steve wouldn’t have given Sam the number if he thought it was a bad idea.

Sam typed out about ten different versions of a simple text before settling on the least awkward.

_[Sam]: _Hi, James. This is Sam Wilson. Steve gave me your number.

_[Sam]: _I wanted to apologize for how I left on Monday. It was rude, especially after everything you did to help me.

God, it was so lame, but Sam couldn’t think of anything else. James seemed like a respectable person, not to mention he was Sam’s client, he was trying to make a good impression.

The wait was agonizing, and Sam was pretty sure this meant that James had read his text and decided he wasn’t worth the time. Eventually, Sam tried to distract himself, going through his rarely used instagram and then checking up on Facebook. He liked a few innocuous posts from old High School friends and distant family members. Then he noticed an unusual post from Steve. The other man rarely used Facebook, and generally it was only to promote fundraisers for the rec center, the work the kids in his program did or sharing important social issue pieces. 

But this was a picture, dated about six years ago. Steve was who he first recognized, decked out in a nice black suit, his arms around two other people. One was a gorgeous red-head in a smart, black cocktail dress who was smirking more than smiling at the camera.

And the other… Sam blinked once, then twice and then clicked on the picture to enlarge it. His eyes weren’t deceiving him, there on the left was one James Barnes. He looked much younger, the stress lines he currently had were not existent. He looked slimmer than he did now, wearing the hell out of a plum colored suit. What shocked Sam most was his hair, short and neat and swept back with product, his face on full display. And what a face. He was absolutely gorgeous, and judging by the wicked smile he was throwing in the camera’s direction, he knew it.

Sam swallowed, complicated feelings warring in his chest. James looked beautiful here, vibrant and confident in a way that Sam had a difficult time merging with the James that he knew now. Tearing his eyes away, Sam looked at the short description. _‘Caught up with these two at the Stark Gala. Who could have imagined we’d be here?’_

Sam’s eyes widened. Stark. That was the biggest name in Tech in the _world._ He knew Steve was sort of a Big Deal in the art world, no matter how much he downplayed it. But who the hell was James to get himself invited to something like this? 

Sam’s fingers trembled as he quickly opened his web browser app and typed the name ‘_James Barnes, Stark Tech’_. Google immediately filled the page, all with unclear information. But what drew him was one of the image results. Another pictures of James, this one looked professional. He looked to be standing next to a a scale model building. Sam clicked on the image and it opened to reveal another picture of James. Dressed in a similar style to the picture on Steve’s facebook page. This time in a navy suit, his chin was tilted up proudly as he looked dead into the camera. His blue eyes were vibrant and calculating. In the picture he was leaning against a display, on it was a polished white model of the newest Stark tower that had just gone up in California about five years ago.

A shiver went down Sam’s spine, and he couldn’t stop staring at the picture. This looked like a man on top of the world, who knew no fear. Someone Sam could have never gotten close to in a million years. Swallowing thickly, he clicked on the thru link for the picture and it took him to an article.

_‘Renowned Architect James Barnes, 35,injured in nearly fatal car accident’_

Sam read the article, the report of the scene, the speculation on what happened, about the other passenger in the car - the lovely red-head from Steve’s photo. By the end of it, he could feel wet tears making trails down his cheeks and soon his trembling was too severe to continue holding the phone. 

Heavy hearted, he put his phone to the side and turned on his back to stare up at the ceiling. Sleep evaded him for the rest of the night.

x x x x 

Sam’s phone ringing was what finally knocked him out of his stupor. He had a restless night, and even the few times he started to drift off, a wild vision of James losing control of a vehicle and crashing jolted him awake. Even when the sun rose, he didn’t really feel like getting up, still trying to wrap his head around everything that he’d learned. 

Sure, a lot of things made sense now. But that didn’t make him feel any better.

His phone kept ringing, who ever it was - they were persistent. Realizing it could very well be serious, Sam picked up his phone and answered without looking at the caller.

“_Sam?”_

The sound of James’ voice made Sam tense, and he instantly covered his mouth to stop the wrecked noise that almost escaped him. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to act _normal_ after everything he had just learned?

“_Sam?”_ He sounded a little more insistent this time. _“Are you okay?”_

Sam took in a deep breath. This was over the phone, he could at least compose himself enough to have a normal phone conversation.

“H-hey, James.” Sam cleared in throat. “Yeah, I’m good. Feeling much better. You, uh, got my texts?”

_“Yes.”_ James answered promptly. _“I texted you back. But you might have gone to sleep already…”_

“Worried about me?” Sam whispered, putting a hand on his own chest to try and calm his rapidly beating heart.

_“With your track record? Yes.”_ James said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. A pause, and then he continued a little quieter. _“You didn’t have to apologize to me.”_

“But I—“

_“No, I was wrong to imply that what you did was lesser work. I’m sorry.”_ James paused. Sam was so shocked that he couldn’t think of a way to reply immediately and the other man continued._”I just worry that you have too much on your plate.”_

“It’s not your job to worry about me.” Sam reminded him gently. 

_“Someone has to.”_

Sam laughed, feeling lighter suddenly. It was good to hear James’ voice, to know that he was okay even after the terrible things Sam had read the night before. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing what he knew, even though James’ hadn’t told him. Sure it was public knowledge, but it was clear James had been doing his damndest to keep the public away since the accident had happened.

_“Steve told me you refuse to look into any scholarships or residencies.”_ James said suddenly. “_Why?”_

Sam blinked, and looked up at the ceiling. He was so used to having to rebuff this conversation from Steve that he nearly forgot the list of reasons he’d come up with.

“I’ve literally only taken two art classes.” Sam answered. “I’m not an artist, and even if I was I don’t have anything to fall back on if I fail.”

_“Sam._” James’ tone was firm. _“You are very much an artist. A remarkable one. If you let more people see your art they would know that.”_

“No way.” Sam said, shaking his head even though James couldn’t see. _“I’m not like Steve,”_ and then quietly, unbidden. “_or you._”

There was silence on the other end of the line as James seemed to realize what Sam had just said. Sam held his breath, wondering if James would hang up on him now. Maybe he had made a mistake bringing it up. For all he knew James had sworn off architecture after everything that had happened to him.

_“I’m not an artist.”_ James voice was almost wistful, _“I can engineer designs that exist in this world. You.. you create whole new worlds that I feel like I’ve been to before. Emotions and feelings that other people can’t—“_

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to speak, but couldn’t get the words out. James understood, James _understood._

_“Allow me to try and convince you.”_ James asked, though it sounded more like a demand. _“Have dinner with me Saturday night.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit, is it a date?? I wonder...
> 
> Also, Nat isn't dead! I swear! She's doing very well off in France. She was originally going to be part of the catalyst for Sam and Bucky talking, but I never got around to building her in. Maybe in a one-shot or something.


	16. burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Not a date. Sam reminded himself as he left the room. He could smell a mix of savory and mouth-watering spices as he left the room. He followed the scent to the dining room, pausing at the entryway and poking his head inside._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't think its a date, our poor sweet summer child. 
> 
> I'll slap an un-beta'd warning on here but because I'm finishing up late and didn't get to go over this chapter as much as I would have wanted.

It wasn’t a date.

It _really_ wasn’t. People didn’t go on dates with their clients. Or at least they shouldn’t. Even though that professional wall had been destroyed around the time Sam had bought James coffee and practically nonexistent when the other man gave him a bath. It still wasn’t right for it to be a date. No matter what Sam’s wild imagination told him, he and James still barely knew one another.

It _couldn’t_ be a date.

At least thats what Sam tried to rationalize to himself over the next few days. With each day, the nervous energy coiling in his stomach only grew. Fear, worry and electric anticipation. No matter how much Sam tried to remind himself of Sharon’s advice, he couldn’t help but worry. 

And worry he did. Worry so much that Scooter and Stella would occasionally pause in their walk to look back at him because of how he was dragging his feet. Worried so much that the uber driver asked him if he was going to be sick and offered a bag for him to puke into. Worried so much that he stood in front of the gates for about five minutes just staring up at the house and wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.

Sam gripped the straps of his bag tightly, even the blustering wind unable to get him moving any faster. He looked up at the gorgeous three-story house, for the first time really looking at it. It didn’t look like the buildings that James Barnes, Hotshot Architect would build. But at the same time, Sam had a feeling that was an entirely deliberate decision. Not that he knew if James had designed the place. But from everything else he had learned about James, the design of the place - from the tall hedges inward was a desperate attempt to keep everything out.

Everything _except_ Sam.

He took a deep shuddering breath, that knowledge giving him a much needed burst of courage. He went through the gates, taking his time up the path. With each step his trepidation grew, causing his shoulders to tense until he felt like his neck was hunched against his shoulders.

He got to the door and knocked, once then twice. He paused, wondering if James would answer before letting himself in as he had done so many times before. An intense feeling of deja vu over came him as he walked into the foyer. Everything was exactly the same as it had bene for the weeks Sam had been coming over. He didn’t know why, but he had expected things to change or feel different. He walked the hall slowly until he reached the back room, his heart sinking a little as he realized there was no note on the door.

He tried not to think too much of it. James was probably busy with work, and now that Sam knew what he did, it made a lot more sense why the place was so quiet. Instead, Sam tried to focus on the work he had to do. After all, James had said dinner, not a whole day together.

Seeing his painting after such a long time seemed to imbue a sense of calm in him, at contrast with the eccentric and intense movement of the image itself. It was breathtaking to see his vision spread out on the canvas, hues of gray blending seamlessly, while the rough black strokes grounded the piece in a sense of permanency. walked towards the canvas, running his fingers along the dried paint, gentle and awestruck. His art had never seemed as alive as it did now. He so hoped that it was what James was looking for.

Stepping back, Sam rolled up his sleeves and went to find his apron. Varnishing such a huge canvas would take a while, but he figured if he really put his mind to it he could get at least half way done today. After all the hard work he had put in, Sam wasn’t keen on rushing at the end.

Getting started was a good way to clear his head. He plugged his headphones in and lost himself in the brushstrokes he had created. He was so engrossed, he almost missed the knock on the door. 

Sam’s heart jumped a little, the familiar set-up making him feel warm and tingly. But things were different now. Gone was the mystery of what James Barnes looked like, and hopefully gone was the need for secrecy. Swallowing roughly, Sam put down his brush and headed toward the door. He placed a hand on the knob hesitantly, almost afraid that it wouldn’t open before he pulled.

To his relief, the door opened and he looked up into the tired face of one James Barnes. The older man was dressed comfortably in a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair looking adorably ruffled. Sam could have cried, as James didn’t seem to make any particular effort to keep his injuries hidden.

“Hi,” James said, a little stilted. His eye seemed to trail up Sam’s body, sending a shiver down the younger man’s spine. “I must have missed you coming in.”

Sam nodded dumbly, feeling a little starstruck and tongue-tied. Quite suddenly, he noticed the smell of coffee and his eyes flickered down to see James holding a mug in his hands.

“Is that for me?” Sam asked, suddenly feeling warm in the face.

James tilted his head a little, eyeing him before answering. “You know where the coffee is.”

Sam blinked rapidly, his mouth falling open in surprise. It took a moment, but he noticed the corner of James’ lips twitching just the tiniest amount. With a scowl Sam reached out with grabby hands for the coffee mug.

“So mean_.”_ Sam muttered, taking the coffee even as James chuckled. He couldn’t help but smile into the first sip of coffee, the older man had a lovely laugh. “You really didn’t hear me come in?”

James shook his head. “The system I have lets me hear the bell. But I can’t hear knocking.”

That was news to Sam. He had always figured his knock was the reason James knew not to come downstairs. Apparently he had been doing it for absolutely no reason at all. Somehow that made him feel better than his previous thought that James used to scramble up stairs in fear of Sam seeing him. For a while, he had felt like he was trapping James in his own home.

“How are you feeling?” James asked quietly as Sam sipped on his coffee. His blue eye seemed to scan Sam’s face, like he might be able to see traces of sickness if he looked hard enough.

“Much better.” Sam was able to say confidently. “Tuesday and Wednesday were rough, but I’m feeling better. Thanks. For checking in, it means a lot.”

James nodded, his gaze softening a little as he relaxed. “And the painting?”

“Coming along.” Sam replied. “I’m varnishing it now. I suspect if I work some more today, I can finish up next week…”

Sam trailed off seeing the look on James’ face shift. The older man wasn’t hiding the fact that he was disappointed by the news, and honestly Sam could say he wasn’t too happy about it either. How many times had James told him there was no reason to rush? And Sam _hadn’t_ rushed, but it still felt like it hadn’t been enough time.

“Do…do you want to see it?” Sam asked quietly, hating the look on James’ face. He didn’t want the other man to be disappointed, he wanted him to enjoy the work Sam had done for him.

But James shook his head vehemently, pointedly looking away. His face was near inscrutable, that naked vulnerability melting away. 

“No, I want to wait.” He answered firmly. “You work, I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

“Oh, right.” Sam said a little vaguely, almost having forgotten the second reason he had come. 

James flashed him a tight smile before turning and walking down the hall. Sam watched him for a moment, holding the mug of half-drunk coffee to his chest. The mood suddenly seemed oddly somber and he turned to head back to his painting, but left the door open just in case.

x x x x 

About an hour later Sam’s phone buzzed and he paused in his brushstrokes to step down the ladder. Fishing out his phone, he saw a simple message from James, ‘_Dinner.’_ and smiled softly. Sam set down his brush and quickly took off his apron, feeling oddly self-conscious about the clothes he was wearing underneath. Just old jeans and a long-sleeved red t-shirt, one the ones already covered in paint stains.

_Not a date._ Sam reminded himself as he left the room. He could smell a mix of savory and mouth-watering spices as he left the room. He followed the scent to the dining room, pausing at the entryway and poking his head inside.

The dining room pretty much looked the same, though Sam noticed the chandelier was turned on, casting a gentle light yellow glow on the room. The table was set with plates and an abundance of food containers that honestly smelled heavenly.

“You heading in?”

Sam nearly jumped, gripping the doorframe as he turned his head to see James. The man was looking at him with an eyebrow delicately raised. He was holding two glasses of wine in his hands, standing so close that Sam swore he could feel the other man’s body heat.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack.” Sam put a hand on his chest as he shuffled into the dining room. He walked around the table, surprised to see that James had actually set the plates across from one another. Progress from the way they had eaten breakfast on Monday.

Sam sat as James came around to place a wine glass in front of him and then set the other at the opposite place set. Just as Sam was pulling himself toward the table, he felt James help push the chair the rest of the way in. Sam was sure even in the soft light his blush was obvious.

“So, what’ve we got?” Sam looked at the spread in front of him, the lids of the containers still on the steaming trays.

“I ordered Thai.” James answered, as he deftly picked up Sam’s plate. “Is that alright?”

“Um, yeah.” Sam eyed James as the older man nodded and began to open the containers. He couldn’t help but sit and watch rigidly as James began piling food onto Sam’s plate for him. Pad Thai, steamed vegetables in peanut sauce, dumplings and fried tofu. “James, you don’t have to do this.”

James gave him a look as he set Sam’s filled plate in front of him. He was aware that he didn’t _have_ to. Sam ducked his chin, trying to hide the smile growing on his face. This was so beyond anything he would have expected for this night, and yet he felt completely unwilling to try and fight against it.

Sam waited until James had made his own plate and sat down before starting to eat. They sat in a companionable silence for a while, both of them enjoying the food, once in a while shooting small smiles to one another. It felt both exquisitely special and oddly domestic at the same time. Both of them were in casual clothes, but dining in a way that might otherwise call for a special occasion.

Sam could almost imagine them both, slightly more dressed up out at a quiet restaurantin the city like this. Almost.

“How was your week?” Sam asked after taking a sip of wine. “You keep asking how I’ve been. I could have gotten you sick.”

James shook his head. “I’m fine.” He looked away from Sam, and the younger man swore he could see a dusting of pink on his skin. “My week was fine. I was worried.”

“About me?” Sam asked, twirling his fork idly in the bit of noddles he had left.

“No, Steve - yes you.” James replied as though it were obvious. “You have no idea how little work I’ve been getting done these past few weeks.”

That made Sam raise his eyebrows. He took a bit of food and chewed thoughtfully. “I swear what happened last weekend was a fluke.”

James tilted his head and aimed a look at Sam like he didn’t believe him. “Let’s hope so.” James finally said. “When was the last time you saw a doctor?”

“_Oh my god._” Sam muttered, starting to get slightly irritated. He knew that James was legitimately concerned, but the second degree was a bit much.

“Sorry.” James said suddenly, tensing in his chair. He looked down at his plate, clearly embarrassed. “That was too much.”

Sam bit his lip as silence fell between them again and James went back to distractedly eating. Sam couldn’t help but feel bad, since he knew the other man’s intentions weren’t malicious. Steve often did the same thing, needless worrying about Sam when he got so much a sniffle. But the difference was, Sam could see Steve as an older brother or mentor. James was different, Sam liked James, he wanted to get to know him - his likes, dislikes, his fears, his accomplishments. It couldn’t just be about Sam.

Sam drank more wine, throwing back a little more for courage.

“You designed this place, right?” He asked quietly, hoping he hadn’t made a misstep.

It took a moment before James looked up, an unreadable expression in his blue eye. “Did you look me up?”

Sam tried not to feel guilty, though the feeling gnawed at his stomach. “Not… intentionally. Steve had a picture of you on his facebook.” Sam paused. He couldn’t say, _You looked really hot and really sophisticated and I had to know more._ “You were at the Stark Gala?”

Sam saw James wince minutely at the name Stark, and he instantly regretted even bringing up the topic. His hands were too sweaty for him to continue to hold the fork and he set it down next to his plate. He was ready to tell James they didn’t have to talk about it when the other man nodded.

“I remember.” James said quietly. “I hadn’t seen Steve or Natasha for nearly a year.”

His voice sounded so wistful, and the way he said the woman’s name was filled with such deep sorrow that Sam couldn’t help but fear the worse. The article he read hadn’t mentioned a death, only that the two passengers were in critical condition. It didn’t mean that she had survived.

James wasn’t looking at him now, he was looking past Sam, like he was lost in thought. “I haven’t seen Natasha in years.” Sam couldn’t help the relief that flooded through him at that. “She tried to visit, but I—“

James cut himself off sharply, and Sam couldn’t help but reach across the table to touch his trembling prosthetic hand. James looked at him sharply, and Sam squeaked out an apology and moved to take his hand away. Before he could though, James caught his hand in a gentle but firm grip, intertwining their fingers.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t good conversation.” James said, sounding truly concerned. “I shouldn’t burden you with this.”

_God._ He was so honest, so heart wrenchingly sincere that Sam could have cried. Instead, he held back the tears and simply held onto the metal hand. It was cool to the touch, smooth but Sam could feel it thrumming with its own unique energy.

“I don’t mind. It’s not a burden.” Sam said gently, leaning forward. “I want to know everything about you.”

The look in Jame’s eyes was intense, and Sam felt his whole body warm under his gaze. He remembered the pictures he had looked at the night before. The way James had looked dead on at the camera, a fire in those blue eyes. It was no different now, the fierceness of the look was almost hypnotizing in person.

“_Sam_,” The way James said his name sent a shiver down his spine. “You…” He paused, looking down at their joined hands before back to Sam’s face. “I thought fortune had abandoned me.”

Sam nearly let out a whine as James let go of his hand. But the older man quickly rose out of his seat and walked around the table, holding out a hand for Sam to take. He hesitated, looking up at James wonderingly. There seemed to have been some monumental shift in the air. It didn’t stop Sam from taking Jame’s hand, letting the man pull him out of the chair.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath as James pulled him close, practically chest to chest. He could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest, as he stared up into the vivid blue of James’ eye. The heat between them was almost unbearable, and Sam’s mind warned him to run before he got burned. Jame’s raise his flesh hand to ghost gently over Sam’s cheekbone, soft and searching. When Sam didn’t move, James smiled dipping his head closer.

They could have kissed, they were so close that Sam could practically taste the sweet sauce on his breath. The fire grew every hotter, and Sam’s mind screamed warnings even as his body luxuriated in the flames.

_“When you depart from me sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.” _James murmured. He swayed their bodies for a moment, placing his flesh hand on Sam’s waist. “If I could keep you…”

_Would I stay?_ Sam didn’t have the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, James Barnes quoted shakespeare to Sam. From the Tempest, which is a slightly questionable choice.
> 
> Yes, Sam Wilson, it was a date that you were highly unprepared for the intensity of.
> 
> The Phantom of the Opera vibes were off the chain there at the end because no matter how much I try, I'm very melodramatic.


	17. choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _James was being so solemnly straightforward that Sam couldn’t help but struggle to say anything. The older man was just so honest. It was that complete self-assurance that made Sam truly believe that James understood the enormity of what he was saying. The part of Sam that was protesting suddenly seemed irrational. After everything he had been through, didn’t he deserve to pursue his dreams? Didn’t he deserve to be cared for and cherished?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely skipped two days technically, but I figure I earned it. I was exhausted Friday so I wrote about half then and finished it just now.
> 
> We kind of lay it all out in the open here, and we'll see what they make of it.

Sam took the initiative. It was too much, the magnetic pull was too strong.

He pushed up on his toes, his eyes closing as he pressed his lips to James’. For a moment, it was just a press of lips, so gentle it could barely count as contact. And then James was kissing back, insistent, and almost hungry. The mingling texture of soft skin and raised scars was quickly overtaken by the feel of James licking into his mouth. He felt James’ hand come to cup the back of his head, guiding.

Sam felt like he was being devoured.

It had to be the most intense first kiss Sam had ever had. And when they finally pulled away from each other, he could hear his heart pounding in his chest. His breaths a little more ragged and labored. Slowly, he opened his eyes to look at James. The older man’s eye was still closed, lips slightly parted, shiny and wet. James looked as though he had just been anointed and Sam couldn’t help but be humbled.

Finally, James opened his eye, almost sleepily. He looked on the edge of diving back in for another kiss, but instead just smiled soft and wondering.

“We should talk about this.” Sam whispered, resisting the urge to lean in himself. 

James nodded, the hand still cradling the back of Sam’s head scratching lightly over his scalp before lowering. The older man grabbed Sam’s hand and led him through the rooms to the living room. The place where they had first been physically in one another’s presence.

It was odd, coming in here with the lights on and seeing James face. The subterfuge of last weekend seemed oddly far away, though it had only been a bare few days. _God._ Sam had been pining over James for so long that he hadn’t realized just how fast things we're moving. Somehow it all just seemed inevitable.

James led them to the couch, letting Sam sit first before he lowered himself down. Sam watched as James tucked one leg up on the couch, turning his upper-body to face Sam. Their legs were touching, and James reached over to take on of Sam’s hands in his own, unwilling to let him go for even a short amount of time.

Sam was realizing that his perception of James had been flawed from the beginning. His initial skittishness had been an act of self-preservation. This James, this was the confident architect who had taken the world by storm. The charm and boldness he exuded was practically magnetic.

But once he stepped out those doors (if he ever stepped out those doors) would he be the same?

“Sam.” The way James said his name always sounded like a blessing. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

An easy query, with about a hundred answers. Sam sighed and turned his head, looking up at James through his eyelashes. His gaze traveled to the few strands of hair hanging in James’ face. He loved his hair, it was unique and framed the older man’s face so well. But he wondered if it had been James’ attempt to separate himself from the person he was before the accident.

“Your painting is almost done.” Sam blurted out in a rush. “I’m going to finish it next week.”

James’ brows knitted together in confusion at the statement. He didn’t say anything though, just tilted his head and waited for Sam to continue.

“So when that’s over…” Sam trailed off. He didn’t notice that he was drumming his fingers until James began gentle massaging his palm to soothe him. “When that’s over…”

Sam didn’t have exact plans for the money he was going to get. Save some for sure. Maybe splurge a little bit, treat himself to a vacation. He visited his family during the holidays, but only for one or two nights at the most. Being able to spend an entire week with his Mom would be a dream.

“It doesn’t mean this,” James squeezed his hand, pulling Sam’s attention back to him. “This doesn’t have to be over.”

_Not when it’s only just begun._ Hung in the empty space between them.

“I just don’t see how this could work.” Sam admitted, though it pained him.

James frowned and leaned his shoulder against the back of the couch, watching Sam contemplatively. “I’ve made my feelings clear.” He stated. “About how much I don’t like seeing you work yourself so hard.”

Sam started to answer but James raised a hand to stop him. The younger man bit his lip and then nodded for James to continue.

“And I think you're doing yourself a disservice by not pursuing art.” James continued. “I _know_ its what you love. You spend nearly five hours here every weekend, and more time at Steve’s studio. I know you're exhausted. You wouldn’t put yourself through it if you didn’t love it.”

Sam ducked his head, looking at his lap in embarrassment. He couldn’t disagree with James, because it was true. Coming this house had become less of a chore and more of a refuge. Of course the money was a motivating factor, but he had come to think of the back room with its lovely window-seat as his own private oasis. It was like a Sam’s wildest dreams had come true for at least a few hours when he was here.

And who else would have put up with the complete weirdness of the situation? Any normal person may have backed out, regardless of the money. Sam worked two jobs, he made ends meet, he didn’t _need_ to do this. But the prospect of painting and creating had been too tempting for him to give up on.

Part of him was afraid of leaving James at the end of the job, yes. But another part mourned for the artistic freedom he would lose as well. It just wasn’t the same using borrowed tools in Steve’s studio classroom.

“Are you just saying this because you don’t want me to leave?” Sam asked quietly. “Or because you think I can make it?”

James didn’t answer right away. He just ran his thumb over the back of Sam’s hand. Finally he let out a long breath. “I don’t want you to leave.” He admitted. “But if you did… I would still want to sponsor your art.”

Sam brought his free hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against the knuckles for a moment. “I just don’t want you to pay my way.” Sam murmured quietly. “I don’t want to be kept.”

James hummed gently. “I won’t lie to you and say that isn’t what I’m suggesting.”

Sam’s eyes flew up to meet James’. The older man’s gaze was steady and unflinching, unperturbed by what he had said. Sam could feel his face heating up, his brain trying to work around the absurdity of the suggestion and James’ nonplussed attitude about it. 

“Sam, taking care of you has given me more purpose than I’ve had in five years.” James continued. “I would give anything to see your art flourish. You deserve that.”

James was being so solemnly straightforward that Sam couldn’t help but struggle to say anything. The older man was just so _honest_. It was that complete self-assurance that made Sam truly believe that James understood the enormity of what he was saying. The part of Sam that was protesting suddenly seemed irrational. After everything he had been through, didn’t he deserve to pursue his dreams? Didn’t he deserve to be cared for and cherished?

“Compliments make you flustered.” James observed, a small smile quirking at one side of his lips. He raised a hand to touch Sam’s cheek, where his skin was flush and hot. “It’s kind of adorable.”

“Stop it.” Sam whined a little, but only leaned into the touch more. He sighed, as James stroked down the curve of his face and down his jaw with a featherlight touch. “What would your.. expectations be?”

Sam couldn’t look at James, knowing that the other man would take the question one of two ways. It was something he was trying to dodge around in his own head, but considering the complicated nature of the relationship James was proposing, it seemed important to talk about. James was already asking Sam to force his pride to take a backseat and let someone else do the driving.

“Sam. Look at me.” James said, tone suddenly very serious. Sam raised his head a fraction, just barely meeting James’ eyes. “I would never expect sex from you. Or anything like that, unless you wanted it.” He shook his head, eye soft and kind. “I honestly just want you here with me.”

Judging from how they had kissed earlier, Sam had no reason to believe that James wasn’t interested in becoming even more intimate with him. But James also seemed to genuinely enjoy just being around him and talking. There was a precedence for truth in what James was saying.

“I can’t believe this.” Sam muttered to himself, almost resigned. “I’m too old to have a sugar daddy.”

That caused James to burst out laughing, the sound quiet and a little rough from misuse. Sam shot him a glare, but that only made James grin wider. The tension in the air seemed to break somewhat, allowing a comfortableness between them. There was still a lot to talk about, but they had at least discussed somethings.

To Sam’s surprise, James leaned in and pressed his lips to Sam’s forehead, before pulling back and catching Sam’s eyes with his own.

“Call it whatever you want, just be with me.”

x x x x

Sam left that night much later than usual, though James had attempted to make it even later. They’d managed to get caught up in another kissing session on the couch, and James had offered Sam to spend the night in the guest room again. But the younger man had politely, but firmly told him he had to get home, he still had work in both the morning and afternoon the next day.

They cleaned up the dining room together before Sam went to clean the back room and James took care of washing the dishes. By time they had finished it was nearly 11 and after one more kiss in the foyer, Sam was gone into the night.

James hoped it would be one of the last times he would have to watch Sam walk away not knowing when he would be back.

Of course they could text and call now. Sam had his number and he had saved Sam’s in his phone. The temptation to immediately send messages was there, but he held off. The night had been intense, and he’d given Sam a lot to think about. But if the impression he was getting from Sam was correct, the younger man was becoming quite open to what he had offered.

Perhaps it _was_ exceedingly odd. But James knew his attraction to Sam was undeniable. Sam was bright and kind. He lit up the dark, shadowy place with a wholesome energy that pulled James’ from the morose monotony that he called his life. Sam’s paintings were a revelation, they had done so much to help James and he wanted that spirit close to him at all times. 

Not only that, but the world deserved to see it as well.

It was interesting, James mused as he headed up to the second floor, how different it was with Sam then anyone else he had been with. He’d had sort of a playboy reputation, though it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as rumors made it seem. He had dated here and there, though they rarely paned out to more than a few passionate nights out on the town and in bed. It occurred to him that the person he had been wouldn’t have known what to do with Sam.

He would have loved him. James was sure of that. Sam’s art would have intrigued him even back then. But he wondered if Steve would have been so keen to push them together, if Sam would have been off-put by how forward James was upon first meeting. Sometimes he tried to see it in his mind’s eye, meeting Sam as he was _before, _but it was never quite right.

James Barnes five years ago would not have deserved Sam Wilson.

It was a sobering fact, one that James still struggled with privately. But that only made him want to draw Sam closer. If Sam was the _one_ good thing to come out of this disaster, then he would do anything in his power to see the other man happy and healthy under James’ watch.

James sat on the edge of his bed, and ran a hand through his hair. Now here was to hoping that Sam didn’t talk himself out of it during the week.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and James pulled it out.

_[Sam]:_ _Just got home. Thanks for dinner._

James smiled, relieved that Sam was safe.

_[James]: Thank you for your company. Get some rest._

_[James]: Are you free this week?_

James laid back on his bed, crossing his legs at the ankles as he waited for a response. He knew Sam led a busy lifestyle, but the idea of waiting to see him until Saturday was completely unappealing.

_[Sam]: maybe tuesday or wednesday night._

James raised an eyebrow at the change of grammar in the reply. Sam was probably exhausted, he shouldn’t keep the other man up like this.

_[James]: Let me know. Now, sleep. You need the rest._

James watched as the dots on his phone indicating that Sam was typing a message appeared for a minute before eventually he just got a thumbs up in response. James smiled a little, trying to imagine Sam curled up in his bed, safe and warm. His own king suddenly seemed much larger, despite the fact that Sam had never even been in this room.

He needed Sam to move in. It was a yearning for something that he hadn’t felt so innately in such a long time. The house seemed too big and quiet with just James there. He was tempted to go to the backroom, look at the painting just to remind himself that there was still a little bit of Sam here.

But he did want to wait until it was complete. It was more than just the art now, it was all of _Sam._

James knew that he was pushing fast, but his instincts were undeterred by regular societal norms. However, he got the impression that Sam would need a direction, one more thing to convince him that this wasn’t just some fluke or hypothetical game. 

James flicked through the contacts in his phone until he landed on Steve’s and dialed his friend. It was late, but hopefully the man would be up. 

“_Bucky?”_ Came the slightly concerned voice when Steve picked up. “_Are you okay?”_

Of course the last time he had called Steve, he had been distraught over having accidentally brushed Sam off. He remembered reading the note Sam had left that day and practically panicking, calling Steve immediately and blubbering nonsense into his friend’s ears.

“I’m fine Steve, Sam left about forty-five minutes ago.”

There was a long silence on the other line, and James could tell that Steve was running through the possibilities in his head.

_“Bucky, please be careful with him.”_

It was so genuine that James felt his heart constrict at the care in his old friend’s voice. Steve clearly adored Sam, and thought he worked much harder for less than his fair share in the same way that James did.

_“I know.” _James answered. _“_I really care about him, you know. I want to give him everything he deserves.”

Maybe it was too much, but Steve seemed to understand. James heard a tired laugh over the phone.

_“I know you do, Buck.” _Then he added. _“Is that what he wants?”_

“Maybe._”_ James admitted, thinking back to the earlier conversation. He needed something, a push, to show Sam that he was just as serious about Sam’s art as he was about having Sam with him. “I need your help with something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has little to no chill which is my favorite thing about this fanfiction.
> 
> We've got tentatively two more chapters to go? I don't really have an outline for this fic, just a rough idea of what I'm writing next and it pans out to about two chapters.


	18. kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sam got the text as soon as he got to the bus stop. He stood for a moment, struck as he remembered what he had sleepily texted James Saturday night. He’d been half-conscious, but the light from his phone kept him from ignoring the text._
> 
> _He had promised to see James during the week, hadn’t he?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem.
> 
> So. 
> 
> What had happened was... No, really. I screwed up big time, but I figured I was on such a streak at first that I wasn't going to let this bother me. Real talk, I skipped out the end of last week fully intending on writing on Saturday or Sunday. Saturday I went out with a friend pretty late. And then Sunday? Sunday I woke up feeling like death warmed over and was sick until yesterday when I finally went back to work. This is the first day I've felt up to writing in a while and it felt pretty good tbh.
> 
> So if you were wondering, I haven't given up. It wasn't even necessarily writer's block. Just me being busy and then getting struck with a cold.
> 
> Please enjoy! I think its our longest chapter yet.

Sam was distracted during the week. After leaving James’ home Saturday night, he’d gone home and immediately gone to bed, putting their whole conversation behind him. When his alarm went off at approximately 8:30am the next morning, the floodgates opened and he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.

His crush had kissed him. Good. Nice. James had made it very clear that since Sam was _not_ bothered by his scars, he was ready to take the initiative. Sam could get behind that idea, and would love to spend time daydreaming about kissing James’ again and eventually getting his hands underneath those comfy as fuck shirts he was always wearing.

Except… well, there was the other thing.

The thing that Sam didn’t know what to name. He had joked about being too old to have a ‘sugar daddy’, but that was essentially what was being proposed. Except James didn’t seem to expect sex or even for Sam to be overly attentive. He didn’t make any demands at all, except that Sam shouldn’t be working and needed to focus on art.

It was a dream come true, if entirely too good to believe.

The situation crowded his thoughts for days, barely giving him a moments peace. Sam couldn’t count the number of times he had zoned out at the register and had a customer nearly scream at him for taking too long. Even Scott, laid back as he was, had come over to make sure he was doing alright.

Sam found himself almost looking forward to Wednesday night. Hoping that Steve could give a little insight into James’ thought process.

He found himself heading to Steve’s office with a bounce in his step, backpack slung almost carelessly over one shoulder. Steve looked a little surprised to see Sam come into his office so early, but smiled and waved him onto the studio. Sam hesitated only for a second before heading to the other room, feeling oddly nervous here for the first time in a while. 

He put down his backpack and went to find his canvas, pulling it out of a cubby to observe. Right, he’d missed last week. He’d forgotten that this painting was done, all he had to do was varnish it.He looked at it at arm’s length, trying to decide if he was happy with it or not. He supposed it was just as good as the other’s he had finished before - but..

It wasn’t the same.

Working on the big canvas at James’ house gave him such a feeling of freedom of expression. Working at such a small scale couldn’t even compare. When he saw the work he had done for James, he saw all the potential of what his art could be. This wasn’t it.

Somewhat sobered, Sam brought the painting over to a table and went to pull out supplies. He still would finish it, Steve had always told him even if he was unhappy with a piece he should finish it to the best of his ability. After tonight he could put it away and be done with it.

Sam was so wrapped up in his dour mood that he didn’t even notice Steve approach behind him.

“Hmm, you seemed much more cheerful just ten minutes ago.” Steve hummed. “Dare I ask what happened?”

Sam nearly jumped, fumbling the brush in his hand before he glared at the older man over his shoulder. Steve just smiled innocently and held up his hands before pulling up a stool next to Sam.

“I’m serious. Are you disappointed with this?” Steve kept his voice carefully neutral as he gestured toward the painting.

Sam looked back at the canvas and sighed, eyes trailing over the smooth blended grays and blacks. 

“I guess I just got spoiled.” Sam muttered. “It’s like… theres not enough space for the story to breathe. It’s like its trapped, and jumbled.”

Sam wondered if he was making any sense. Not that he’d ever been great at expressing what his art was about. Before he had started on the commission, he at least felt like he had an idea about what he was trying to express. And he expressed his truth to the best of his ability. But now, it felt like these small images only told part of the story, not nearly enough space for Sam to explain the world that lived inside his head. 

Maybe this was why no one else had really understood them either.

“Working on a bigger canvas is a different experience, isn’t it?” Steve asked quietly, though he wasn’t unkind. “It’s not my preference, but I know it suits your work.”

“Have you checked on my painting at James’?” Sam asked suddenly. He had offered many times to both James and Steve. Though as far as he knew, neither had taken up his offer to check the painting.

“No.” Steve shook his head. “Bucky was adamant that you be left to work in peace. He wanted it to be authentically you.”

Sam felt his face heat up, even though he knew Steve was solely referring to his art. James’ insistence in waiting was sweet, if entirely misguided because of how nervous it was making Sam. Up until now, the only expectations he had to worry about had been his own. What if James’ hated it? What he felt the exact _opposite_ to Sam and thought it was too much?

“Sam, hey, hey…” Steve put a hand on his shoulder. “You alright? You spaced out there for a minute.”

“Y-yeah.” Sam said a little shakily. “That’s just a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

“Oh! God, I didn’t mean to! It was supposed to reassure you…”

“I know, I know.” Sam put down a few more strokes, watching as the colors shined on the canvas. He could admit it looked pretty enough. 

A silence fell between them and Sam bit his lip, focusing on the painting. He desperately wanted to talk to someone about what had happened with James, but he was stuck. _No one else knew._ Sharon only knew James as the fabricated coffee shop story, and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of him telling his sister. Steve was literally the only person who knew about the whole _thing_ with James. 

And Steve was James’s friend.

_Oh god._ What if he thought Sam was some sort gold-digger? What if he thought Sam was just trying to take advantage of James’ kindness? If he told Steve, the older man was going to think he was some type of swindler…

“Sam, stop!” Steve reached out and gently lifted Sam’s hand away from the painting. When Sam blinked up at him, he sighed. “Maybe that’s enough for tonight.”

Sam looked down to see the hard bristled imprint the brush had made from him pressing into the varnish. He winced, and made to smooth it out quickly before doing as Steve suggested. He sat back heavily folding his hands in his lap.

“Oh, Sam.” Steve pushed the painting to the middle of the table to leave it to dry before looking at the younger man. “I don’t think Bucky meant to cause you this much anxiety. But then again, he’s always been sort of idiosyncratic in the way he treats people he cares about.”

Sam blinked up at him dully, before finally speaking. “He wants me to stay with him.”

Steve nodded slowly, his face betraying nothing. “I know.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“Sam, you're the best thing that’s happened to Bucky in five years.” There was a hint of sadness in Steve’s voice. “But, you need to do what’s right for you. If it’s too much, then that’s okay. But don’t throw away a chance at happiness because you don’t think you deserve it.”

Steve reached out and placed a hand on Sam’s folded ones. “Because you do deserve it.”

x x x x 

_[James]: What do you want for dinner?_

Sam got the text as soon as he got to the bus stop. He stood for a moment, struck as he remembered what he had sleepily texted James Saturday night. He’d been half-conscious, but the light from his phone kept him from ignoring the text. 

He had promised to see James during the week, hadn’t he?

Sam bit his lip, realizing he had completely forgotten. Pushed to the back of his brain as he worried about the whole other Big Issue. But there was no way he could back out of it. How rude would that be? And it wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to see James. Not at all. Sam enjoyed the time they spent together. 

He just wish it didn’t come with all the other complications. He wished James had just let it sit for a while before springing everything on him.

But this could be a good chance for them to just sit and talk. See if they could spend some time together without Sam’s painting being a precursor. 

_[Sam]: Let me think about it._

Sam texted him back as a plan formulated in his head. He didn’t want to waste too much time, and it was already late. But if he called ahead now, he could have things ready by time he got home.

Sam’s bus came quickly after that, and he rushed up to his apartment to pack. He swapped out his sketchbooks for overnight clothes and clean underwear and a shirt for the morning. Knowing time was of the essence, he walked the few blocks to pick up an order from his favorite Indian restaurant, ordering the uber just before going inside to pay for the food. Not three minutes later he was being picked up and on his way to James’ place, the delicious smell of spiced food calming his nerves.

After getting out of the uber and nearly tripping over himself to get through the gate to the front door, Sam finally took a minute to wonder if James even liked Indian food. The fact that James had ordered Thai last time meant that he didn’t have a completely tragic palette, but Sam would feel kind of stupid if he rolled up with a bag full of food that James had no interest in.

Sam really didn’t have much time to rethink the plan, as the door suddenly opened, leaving Sam’s hand overing in the knocking position. James kept well out of the doorframe, but it made Sam’s heart flutter a little to see that he had even opened the door for Sam his own way. It was sweet. He was trying.

Sam hurried inside, knowing that even in the dark the open door was probably bothering James. As soon as he was in, the older man closed and locked the door before greeting Sam.

“You brought food?” He sounded genuinely surprised, but still held out his hands so that he could take the heavy bag from Sam. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s nice to see you too.” Sam huffed good-naturedly. He could see from James’ face though, that the other man didn’t seem upset. Just genuinely curious and a bit wondering, like he truly hadn’t expected it. “You picked last time.”

“That’s true.” James murmured before leading Sam to the kitchen. “How was your week?”

“Fine. I can’t complain.” Really, Sam’s only issue had been worrying about James. “And yours?”

“Fair enough.” The older man said, placing the bag on the counter. He finally turned to face Sam fully, fixing his intense blue eye on Sam’s. Without another word, he cupped Sam’s cheek with his flesh hand before dipping to press a sweet kiss to Sam’s lips. “I missed you.”

“Oh.” Sam breathed out, just barely managing to hold back a dreamy sigh. He could have melted into James in that moment and held tightly to his backpack straps to keep himself grounded.

James smirked a little, but it wasn’t unkind. It was amazing how roguish an eye-patch could make someone in sweats and a henley seem. “Are you hungry now?”

Sam could swear that James was asking him two different questions, even as the older man innocently took the containers out of the bag. Sam blinked rapidly, trying to regain control of his wandering mind before glaring at him.

“_Starving._” Sam counted it as a win when James fumbled the Samosas. 

x x x x

Sam begged off eating in the stuffy dining room again, much to James’ surprise. The older man seemed a little taken aback before hesitantly asking if Sam wanted to eat in his room. The way James awkwardly added “We can watch a movie…?” managed to put Sam a little at ease. It seemed James was just as out of his depth as Sam was, just a little better at hiding it.

Eventually, they ended up settled on the plush rug floor in James’ huge bedroom. Sam was pleasantly surprised to see how comfortable the older man’s room was. He had a King bed, plush pillows graciously piled on top. For all his fastidiousness with the cleanliness downstairs, there was an acceptable amount of disorganization upstairs. Clothes hung over the back of a comfortable armchair and there was a pile of towels by the dresser. The only spot that seemed neat was a large drawing desk and desktop computer set-up in one corner of the room. 

The most surprising thing was the window, curtains open so that James could look out into the backyard.

It was a comfortable space, it _felt_ like James’ and Sam was honored that he was even allowed to see it. He glanced over at his companion, sitting just inches away. James had finished his food and was leaning back, watching the current episode of Great British Bake-Off with rapt attention.

“So you’ve really never watched this?” Sam asked through a bite of chicken vindaloo and rice. When James shook his head Sam continued. “_Man_, what have you been watching then?”

“Nature documentaries mostly.” James answered vaguely. “I watched all of Dark Shadows.”

“The Johnny Depp vampire movie?” Sam wrinkled his nose a little.

That got James to look over at him. The older man frowned, obviously perturbed. “Hell no. The soap opera.”

“Oh, jeez.” Sam wasn’t sure if that was a much better usage of his time. “I’d say get a hobby, but you’re already an architect, so…”

“Ugh, architecture is _not_ my hobby.” James said immediately. “At least not the stuff I do for work.”

“Hmmm.” Sam’s eyes drifted over to the drafting table for a moment before snapping back toward the tv. He didn’t want to seem like he was prying, but he was curious. “I’d like to see the stuff you’ve done for work though.”

Sam had seen the two Stark buildings, which were vaguely similar. But he had no idea how much of that was James, and how much of that was his client’s desires. James might not think he was an artist, but Sam had a feeling most people would disagree.

“You’ve seen the Stark towers, right?” James asked quietly.

“Only in pictures.” Sam answered, shrugging a shoulder. He’d never been out to visit California, and he hadn’t been in New York when the second building had gone up. “They’re beautiful, but its hard to get a sense of them completely from just photos.”

James looked toward the ceiling, his gaze faraway. “I can’t design in two dimensions for shit.” He closed his eyes slowly, raising a hand. “But if I can imagine something in three dimensions. An immersive total body experience. The textures, the shapes, how something makes you _think_ it’s structured and then challenges your expectations once you’re enveloped in it. That, I can do.”

He sighed, a long breath leaving his body and he looked over at Sam. His eyes were soft, a small smile on his lips. “It’s basic, I know. Not like the worlds you create.”

Sam sucked in a deep breath, his whole body shaken by the depth of emotion he had just heard. He had _never_ heard anyone speak about architecture like that, he had nevereven _thought_ about architecture like that. Surely buildings had their place, but he had never considered that the entire experience could be just as important as its function.

“God, I wish I could see things like you.” Sam said in a rush, setting his plate aside. “You’ll have to show me one day.”

James leaned forward, their lips were hairs-width apart. “Of course.”

“We can go together.”

The thought was half-formed and ill-conceived out, but Sam said it all the same. The tension between them snapped and James leaned away, his face suddenly drawn and ashamed. Sam’s chest squeezed tight, wanting to take it back, wanting to explain. Because he wanted this - this beautiful, miraculous connection they had - he wanted it to _work._ But that couldn’t mean just staying here in this house.

“Sam, I can’t…” James voice cracked, as he brought a hand up to smooth down the uninjured side of his face.

“James, please.” Sam reached out hesitantly, stung when James shrunk away from him. “I shouldn’t have just blurted that out. But James, I would _love_ to see your buildings with you. You should be proud of what you’ve achieved.”

“Sam, that’s not the problem and you know it.” James bit out. “I can’t.. I can’t go out like…” He gestured to himself.

“You can.” Sam insisted. “James, you don’t deserve to be trapped here.”

“I’m not trapped.” James ground out. He stood suddenly and went to his desk, hands gripping the sides almost painfully. His body was shaking, though from anger or sadness Sam wasn’t sure. “I’m safe. I’m safe from the stares, and the pity and the disgust.” He glanced over his shoulder at Sam. “Not everyone is like you, Sam. Not everyone is kind.”

Sam stood slowly, unsure if he should approach. James didn’t seem _mad_ at him. If anything, the older man’s gaze soften a little as he looked at Sam.

“I remember the nurses. They were good nurses, kind and professional.” His face twisted painfully. “But I could see it in their eyes. They pitied me, they were horrified. It took Steve weeks to look me in the eyes.”

James let out a shuddering breath and turned to lean his hip against the desk, his body seemed deflated. Shaking his head, he gestured towards Sam with his hand. “But you. You saw me. You weren’t afraid, you just… accepted me.”

“I was afraid when I couldn’t see your face.” Sam admitted, thinking of the first few times he had come to the house. “I thought I was being haunted. I was relieved when it was you. Kinda felt lucky.”

James smiled and started toward Sam. Like he was being pulled into a magnetic field, Sam walked forward to meet him in the middle. James wrapped Sam in his arms, cradling the younger man’s head to his shoulder. Sam sighed, allowing himself to melt into the strong arms, James’ whispered ‘thank you’s a soft tickling against his ear. For a moment, they just let the intense emotions settle around them before Sam pulled back to look up at James.

“I just don’t know how this would work.” He admitted softly. “I want to be with you, but…”

“Then be with me.” James insisted, kissing Sam softly. Pulling back, he reached up to stroke Sam’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I won’t trap you here, Sam. Go, explore whenever you need. As long as you always come back to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THEM THERE FEELS AT THE END.
> 
> I did say one more chapter. That could stand, but there could possibly be an epilogue as well. I'll see how the next chapter pans out when I write it. Thanks for sticking with me!


	19. illuminated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We’re back where we started._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samtember is almost over, boooo. So despite my setbacks, this will technically have been finished this month. Kind of, there will probably be a short epilogue BUT the main story is complete with this chapter.
> 
> It's a heck of a ride, considering I started this on a wisp of an idea.
> 
> Anyway, lets not get weepy. We got a chapter to read, and letting you know ahead of time its rated M.

Sam did something unusual in the lead up to the next weekend. He took off work. He called the dog walking agency and asking a coworker to cover his afternoon shift  at the store. He was sure people thought there was something going on with him, but if they were worried or annoyed they didn’t ask any inquiring questions. To be honest, Sam wasn’t trying too hard to think about it either. It’s not like he and Jame had made any _plans_, all he was doing was unveiling the painting to the other man. But it sure felt like something significant was going to happen and he figured it was safer to be prepared.

Sam spent the week focusing on work as always. He let Sharon drag him out window shopping and then to dinner Tuesday night. On Wednesday he and Steve went to see an art exhibition for one of Steve’s former students. Sam hadn’t bought a new canvas yet, and honestly he was a little too excitable to start a new painting anyway. The exhibition was nice, though Sam got the distinct feeling that Steve was trying to show him something by taking him there.

Steve didn’t bring up Sam going to school, or looking for residencies though, so Sam tried not to read too much into it. And spending time with Steve as a friend was rather enjoyable, he liked hearing about his work at the rec center and how his fine arts students were fairing.

The rest of the week passed fairly mundanely, though on Friday night Sam found himself impatiently waiting for their manager to finish counting the cash drawers. Even as late as he got home, he couldn’t convince himself to sleep - both nervous and excited for the next day. He sent James a few texts, mostly innocuous things. Eventually around 1:30am James called and very firmly told him to go to sleep. Hearing his voice seemed to relax Sam, and after that he gave in to his body’s desires and went to bed.

The next morning he got up bright and early, packed his bag for an optimistic two nights. Hemmed and hawed about being too presumptuous, debated texting James to ask about sleeping over before chickening out. He reasoned that James didn’t _have_ to know that Sam had packed cleaned underwear for the next two days, but he’d rather be caught prepared than caught wearing dirty boxers around his boyfriend.

_Boyfriend._

It didn’t exactly seem fitting for the relationship they had. Whether it was the intense, unique connection or the fact that James was 40 and the word ‘boyfriend’ sounded hilariously juvenile. Were they technically dating if they didn’t go anywhere for dates? But surely having dinner and hanging out at James’ house counted as dates?

These were the thoughts that followed Sam on his uber ride to James’ home. He wasn’t necessarily bothered by the thoughts so much as intrigued. He and James had an unconventional relationship from the beginning, and he wasn’t going to get weird about the nature of it right now. It was more the outside details that concerned him. Like telling his friends, telling his _family._ That shit was difficult. But the feelings between them? Simple, easy.

Sam was surprised to see Steve’s bike already parked out on the street in front of the house. He thanked the uber driver as he got out, pausing for a moment to consider Steve’s Harley-Davidson. He hadn’t said a word to Sam on Wednesday about stopping by, and for a moment Sam’s heartbeat quickened, concerned that something happened to James.

He couldn’t be blamed if he was a little more rushed to get to the house, not even bothering to stop and give the door more than a cursory knock. It was unlocked like usual and he let himself in quietly. Stepping in the foyer, he could see a light from another room, and he walked quietly towards it. He heard soft voices and stopped, a hand tightening on the strap of his backpack, but he realized rather quickly that the voices weren’t _upset._ No, he could hear Steve and James, quiet but calm and it set Sam somewhat at ease.

He followed the light to the living room where the door was half-way open. He could see James and Steve standing at the bottom of the stairwell, both angled so they weren’t looking toward the door. Steve still had his brown leather jacket on, his helmet under one arm and he looked much more relaxed than the last time he had been there. James was leaning against the banister, Sam could just make out what looked like a manila envelope in his hand. 

Sam took a deep breath before knocking on the doorframe, not wanting to startle. Immediately both men looked his way, surprised at first. Steve grinned softly, raising his hand in greeting while James immediately perked up, pushing away from the stairs and headed toward the door. With a smile, Sam entered the room, meeting him halfway, nearly melting when James pulled him in for a tight hug.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” James sounded sweetly apologetic as he backed off just enough to put some space between them.

“I’m not interrupting am I?” Sam asked, glancing around James to see Steve. The other man had this soft, misty-eyed look on his face that made Sam’s face go a little warm. “Hey, Steve.”

“No, Steve just had to drop something off.” James assured him, turning and putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

“It’s actually about time I headed out.” Steve piped up, walking toward them. “Sorry I can’t stick around to see the painting, I’ll try and stop by tomorrow—“

James cleared his throat, casting an incredulous look at Steve. The blonde stiffened for a moment before realization dawned and the tips of his ears turned pink.

“Or I’ll see it next week.” Steve amended quickly, not quite able to meet either of their eyes. He moved in to give Sam a half-hug since it was clear James had no intention of moving from Sam’s side. Then he faced his friend and his expression turned almost exasperated. But there was a giddy joy that hadn’t been there the last time they had met and he moved forward to hug James tightly. 

Sam could barely contain his soft smile as James slowly returned the embrace, arms tightening momentarily. Eventually, the two friends pulled away, identical looks of relief and happiness on their faces. Steve said his farewells before letting himself out, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

For a moment, Sam wasn’t sure what to do. He carefully shrugged out of his backpack and went to leave it by the stairwell. When he turned back, James was watching him with a gentle half-smile, looking so impossibly fond that Sam’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He reached out for Jame’s closest hand, enclosing the metal prosthetic in his own.

“So, uh, you wanna see it?”

That made James laugh, cracking the tension that had built up around them. He gestured for Sam to lead the way down the hall. Sam’s chest was wasa battleground of acceptance and trepidation. He vaguely wished he had gotten a chance to clean up a little more, but most of the supplies had been pushed to the side of the room when he left. He tried to think of any little thing he might have left unfinished, but the painting truly was to his satisfaction. There was nothing else he could do except to await James’ judgement.

Oddly enough, as he held James’ hand in his own, he wasn’t afraid. It wasn’t arrogance really, but this unshakable notion that he and James just seemed to exist on the same frequency. There was a world of creating that they both understood, that existed on a separate plane from anyone else. 

When they reached the backroom, Sam put a hand on the doorknob, pausing only momentarily to glance at James. He was surprised to see the older man had an almost wondering look in his eye. Sam wondered how often James passed this door, eager and curious about what awaited beyond it. So much was connected to his place. The notes they had passed between them, the first time they had ever spoken. This was the final threshold that James’ would cross until there was nothing else between them.

_We’re back where we started._

Sam pushed open the door and led James inside. The plastic tarp still covered the floor, dried paint from the weeks past dotted its surface. The sun was high in the sky, beaming through the big windows, casting the painting in natural warm light. Sam shivered upon seeing it again, the atmosphere just right as he had hoped. He let go of James’ hand and stepped away, wanting to watch.

James stopped in the dead center of the room, his face nearly unreadable for a moment and he took in the painting. Sam could see his eye moving, skating over the smooth transitions of grays, the sharps black lines of the abstract mountain range and the deep shadows of the transitioning squares. He was so quiet and still, Sam’s breath caught in his throat as he waited for some sort of response.

He barely held back a sound as James reached up with a trembling hand and slipped the black eye patch off of his head, stuffing it into his pocket. From the angle he stood at, Sam couldn’t quite see both his eyes, and he resisted the urge to go closer. Instead, he let James have his time, watching as the older man walked up to the painting. He could see him trembling as he reached out with his flesh hand, light as a feather to trace the black lines. He grew bolder, running his finger tips over the grays like they were moving through a river. Sam shivered as he watched James’ exploration, the whole process feeling strangely intimate.

He had poured everything of himself into this painting, and now to watching it being touched so reverently. Sam swallowed against his own desires, the phantom feel of fingertips caressing his body just as James caressed the canvas.

And then James moved back a few steps, staring up at it. Then Sam noticed he could see his shoulders shaking, just barely. Soft sounds, like someone trying to hide tears. Alarmed, Sam approached, placing a hand on James’ forearm, brow furrowed.

“James? Are you oka—-“

Sam’s breath escaped him as James suddenly turned and grabbed him, pressing Sam’s back against the painting. Before he could even process what had happened, Sam felt James’ mouth on his own, hungry and insistent. He moaned, the salty taste of tears mixing with the taste of minty fresh toothpaste and coffee. Sam easily let himself relax into the kiss, as James slipped his arms down around Sam’s waist, still pressing him against the canvas. 

Sam was vaguely glad that James had pressed him against the center wooden support of the canvas, or else they both might have fallen through it and that would have dampened the mood immensely.

James didn’t stop kissing him until they were both quite desperate for air. Pulling back just enough so that they could breath, but refusing to move his body an inch from Sam’s. Sam stared up at him, eyes-half lidded and a little dazed. He realized he could finally see both of James’ eyes. He could see that the scarring that started from his hairline went through his eyebrow at several places. The left eye, usually hidden by the eyepatch was cloudy and gray, the eyelashes thinner and shorter.

Sam reached up, slowly so that James could see what he was doing and gently tucked James’ hair behind his ear. He could see that too had been damaged. The scaring if anything, looked even more brutal in such a small area. Carefully, Sam cupped James’ cheek, just barely touching the surface of his skin. His thumb ghosted down one of the scars under his eye. He felt James shudder, the older man’s eyelids fluttering closed as he leaned his forehead against Sam’s. 

“_Sam,_” James voice almost broke. “Sam, _thank you.”_

Sam watched with bated breath as James’ mouth twisted and his brow furrowed. The other man seemed to be struggling with something and Sam placed his free hand on the other’s waist, steadying. Finally, James opened his eyes, they were wet, but clear and his face softened. He leaned in, slower this time and pressed his lips to Sam’s so sweetly and tenderly that Sam thought his knees might collapse beneath him. He sighed as James pulled away, eyes closed as he reveled in the intimate touch. 

“Sam,” He opened his eyes, half-lidded and adoring. James voice trembled as he spoke. “_I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, “I love you.”_”

“O-oh, James…_” _Sam’s heart nearly leapt into his throat, and he could scarcely believe the words the other man had spoken. He wrapped and arm around James’ neck and pulled him in, kissing him desperately, suddenly unconcerned by the precarious position they were in against the painting.

In a moment, James’ hands were under his shirt, one a cool metal against his heated skin. Before Sam knew it, his shirt was off, tossed somewhere on the floor as James pressed hot opened mouthed kisses down the column of his throat. Everything happened so fast, as they undressed one another, clothes falling carelessly in their desperation to feel skin against skin. 

Sam hummed gently, as his hand roamed over James’ abdomen, feeling unexpected hard muscle there. James breathy chuckle was the only response, the other man far too interested in biting kisses onto Sam’s neck and collarbone. Sam buried a hand in James’ hair, tugging gently at the soft strands as James petted his waist and hips.

Things slowed, easy and and comfortable between them even as James pressed his hips against Sam’s. His half-hard length pressed against Sam’s own growing erection. Sighing, he pulled at James hair, wanting to taste his mouth again. Languidly, they pressed against on another, James rolling his hips slow and unrushed. 

Sam didn’t know what it was, but he felt oddly at peace against the heat of the moment. It felt unreal, but also like he had never been more alive than in this moment. He moved in time with James, growing more desperate as the pleasure between them grew. The texture of the canvas against his back grounded him, even as he rode the feelings consuming his body. It wasn’t like drowning, it was like coming up for air or being born again. James’ grip on his waist tightened and Sam threw his head back, arms tightening around James’ neck. He came with a strangled cry, James lips breath on his ear, chanting his name like a prayer.

For just a moment, Sam could have sworn that all three of them had become one, unable to tell where the painting started and where Sam and James ended.

Sam slumped into James’ arms, exhausted as the older man unsteadily moved them back to the bay window. They collapsed down onto the gray cushions, James pulling Sam into his lap unbothered by the mess covering both of their bodies. It should have been cold by the window, but James’ heated skin kept him warm as he laid his head on the other man’s chest. Sam let his eyes flutter closed as he felt a metal hand stroking over his hip, James pressing sweet kisses into his hair.

For a moment they just sat together, riding out the post-orgasm haze in a comfortable silence. Eventually, Sam turned his head and looked at the painting, the reality of what had just happened setting in. 

Groaning he turned his face and pressed his forehead against James’ collarbone. 

“No one else is allowed to see this painting.” He stated, mortified at the idea of anyone being around it after what they’d just done. 

“I don’t think anyone will notice.” James chuckled into Sam’s hair, squeezing his hip comfortingly. “And Steve’s the only other person who knows about it.”

Sam groaned even louder, the thought of Steve and his wholesome enthusiasm coming in and wanting to _touch_ everything. “Oh my God, you _cannot_ let Steve touch it.”

“S’mine anyway.” James rumbled, a hint of possessiveness coloring his voice. “I’m the only one who can touch.” He paused. “With your permission, of course.”

Sam could have rolled his eyes, but refrained from doing so. He understood the sentiment of what James was trying to say despite the ludicrousness of that statement after what had just transpired. “Only you, James. Only you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So better believe James quotes Shakespeare again. It was King Lear this time. I wanted to find a line that Sam could quote back to him, but this one was too perfect to pass up.
> 
> I'm so glad ya'll have stuck with me through this. Please look out for the epilogue. It should be up fairly quickly I think since I don't plan on it being very long.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


	20. at last- epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And here we are in heaven._
> 
> _For you are mine at last._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I technically finished this before 12:00pm, so I would say thats my Samptember goal complete. I had a great time writing this and hopefully I'll write more of hese two in the future.

Sam took a step inside the door, slipping his keys into his jacket pocket, calling out “I’m home!” as soon as he crossed the threshold. Closing and locking the door behind him, he smiled as the smell of garlic and soy sauce drifted from the kitchen. James had said he was going to cook tonight, but Sam hadn’t completely believed him. They’d done a little bit of experimental cooking together, neither of them was really experienced, and they had some success so far. But James cooking all by himself was an entirely different feat.

Sam put his bag down in the foyer, and took off his jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door before heading down the hall. He had his tie off, hanging over his shoulder by time he poked his head in the kitchen, grinning at the sight in front of him.

James was standing over the stove, sliding steaming asparagus from a pan onto a plate already piled with white rice and delicious looking tofu. He finally looked over at Sam once he had finished, raising his right eyebrow almost contemplatively before breaking into a smile.

“Just in time.” James sounded pleased as Sam ambled over to give him a light peck on the lips. “How did it go?”

Sam couldn’t help but brighten, nearly bouncing on his toes with giddiness. “I’m in. I got accepted!”

James’ eye widened and he hurriedly placed the plate on the counter before picking Sam up and spinning him in his arms. Before long they were both laughing, leaning against the countertop as they held one another. James cupped Sam’s face in his hands, leaning down to kiss Sam on the lips, unable to stop himself from smiling.

Sam had been so damn worried about the interview today that James thought he might be sick before leaving the house. Despite the fact that his art had been accepted and made him a candidate for the Shield Collective Residency, he had been terribly worried about the interview portion. Steve had been the one to put the fear in his head, coming over one evening for dinner to explain a little bit more about the Residency program he had submitted Sam for.

_Sam had spread the contents of the folder out on the table, even a week after James had handed him the envelope he still couldn’t believe it. But there it was, the first line of the page right after his name. _‘You’ve been accepted…’.

_The Shield Collective program was very well-regarded from what Sam had researched, though information about it was very limited other than that its list of alumni was impressive._

_“It’s kind of weird that the interview is after being accepted.” Sam murmured quietly, holding up the sheet that provided the location and time of his meeting._

_James looked up from his phone, peering over Sam’s shoulder before looking back to his email. He’d had a trying week, trying to wrap up a project for an extraordinarily finicky clientele who kept changing their mind. For his part, James was just happy to see Sam get accepted, he sort of glazed over when it came to the details of everything else. That’s why he’d invited Steve over._

_“Oh,” Steve smiled a little sardonically. “The interview isn’t for them, it's for you.”_

_Steve went on to explain the the program director, Nick Fury was an interesting character. A former military man and renowned sculptor, Fury ran his program more like a bootcamp than a co-op retreat._

_“He’s tough as nails, and doesn’t have patience for bullshit.” Steve explained plainly. “But that’s why I think its a good fit for you.” He sighed and leaned back, looking over at James fondly before refocusing on Sam. “Buck made me realize that I wasn’t pushing you hard enough. I kept backing off because I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I should have realized you needed encouragement, but I was thinking of you like my graduate students and not someone who needed more support. I’m sorry.”_

_Sam understood what Steve meant. He didn’t tell him at the time, but he appreciated that Steve had given him room to breathe. He wasn’t sure if he would have ever become friends with the other man if he had been more insistent about Sam taking art seriously and Sam valued their friendship too much to regret how it had happened._

Eventually James and Sam pulled themselves away from one another and gathered their plates before the food cooled. They headed to the living room and settled on the couch together. As Sam dug into his meal, James pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned on a soft playlist, setting the phone on the table. They ate sitting close to one another, their shoulders bumping as Otis Redding played softly in the background.

“Holy shit, J, you actually pulled it off.” Same said around a mouthful of tofu and rice. They had been talking about trying tofu once they felt more comfortable in the kitchen, but when the last grocery delivery had come, there innocuously had been a package of extra-firm tofu.

‘_“Just as long as we follow the instructions._’” James reminded him.

Sam smiled at the parroted phrase they had started saying to one another when things were getting really hectic in the kitchen. So far, the recipes hadn’t failed them and this was another winner.

“Tell me about the interview.” James prompted, nudging Sam’s knee with his own.

Sam nodded and launched into it, telling him that meeting Director Fury, had been about ten times more intimidating than Steve could have possibly hoped to prepare Sam for.

_“When I saw Roger’s name on the recommendation letter I nearly rejected you outright.” Fury held up a typed letter and gestured with it before folding it up and putting it aside. He fixed Sam with his intense one-eyed stare. James looked like a puppy in a pirate costume compared to how Fury wore the hell out of his eyepatch. “But I took a look at the pictures he sent.”_

_Fury spread out five large glossy photos. They were the paintings Sam had made over the months he had spent in Steve’s studio. He had suspected that Steve was taking them and keeping them, but he had never bothered to ask. His apartment was too small for him to start piling up paintings, that and he hated the thought of them just hanging around as a reminder of what he couldn’t have._

_But there they were in glossy, beautifully lit images. Steve had gone through the trouble of truly making them look professional. If Sam weren’t so tense, he might have almost teared up. Instead, he just swallowed thickly and nodded._

_“I guess even Steve Rogers occasionally gets things right.” Fury said as though it pained him. _

_Steve had warned Sam that he and Fury weren’t exactly… friendly. They had vastly different teaching pedagogy’s and rarely saw eye to eye. It meant a lot that Steve still chose to sent Sam’s application to Fury, and that Fury had still even considered him._

_“Thank you, sir.”_

_“Don’t thank me yet, Wilson.” Fury said sternly. “This is an intense program. I don’t tolerate tardiness, you need to use every second you are here wisely, we’ll have lectures every Thursday, and if your work doesn’t meet my standards by then end you will not be having an exhibition. Theres no cutting corners in this program. Can you handle that?”_

_Sam sat up-straight, almost wanting to snap to attention. His heart beat loudly in his chest, but he could tell it was more from _excitement_ than anything else. This wasn’t a vacation, or even like being in school, this was going to be like a job. Something like calm replaced Sam’s nerves, the familiarity of having instructions and a goal in place._

_He nodded, mouth set firmly, but feeling more confident. “Yes, sir.”_

“Sounds like an asshole.” James commented before chomping down on a stalk of asparagus. He looked slightly dubious, but he trusted both Sam and Steve’s opinion. 

“He’s a hard-ass for sure.” Sam said, but it didn’t knock the smile from his face. “But I think Steve was right. I need someone to put the pressure on me.”

Sam didn’t say it, but James had done it himself in his own way. His insistence that Sam _was_ an artist and that he _deserved_ to do this professionally had been a powerful force in getting Sam to stop being so stubborn. James had never been mean about it, he just refused to drop the subject and would talk right over Sam’s protests. Maybe for other people it might be rude and demoralizing, but it filled Sam with warmth. He was so used to looking after himself, that having someone care that much that _intensely_ about him was welcome.

“The program starts in the spring.” Sam added, putting him empty plate down and leaning back into the couch.

James hummed as he chewed his last bit of food. “We’ve got a few months.”

Sam nodded, folding his hands over his full belly. He had time to get all of his ducks in a row before he focused all his attention on his art. His lease wasn’t up until next Spring, though he spent the weekends with James, and came over on the nights he didn’t have afternoon shifts. James still insisted that Sam quit his jobs, especially with the acceptance into the Shield Residency, but Sam hadn’t been comfortable with that. But with the money James had given him for the painting, he could afford to stop working on the weekends. He missed the dogs, but being able to rest and spend time with James was such a relief he couldn’t regret it.

Sam knew it wouldn’t be long before he gave in and moved in with James. He adored spending time with the other man. They binged shows together, cooked together and just enjoyed one another’s presence. James had even shyly asked Sam to help him remodel the first floor, wanting it to look more like a _home_ than some showroom from a catalogue. They were tackling the uncomfortably stuffy dining room first. They had ordered new furniture and taken down the weird landscape paintings.

“Hey.” Sam suddenly remembered, peering over at James. “Did you ask Steve about the painting?”

They had decided to paint the walls from an off-white to a light blue with gray trim to brighten the space up since it didn’t have a window. Sam had come up with the idea of asking Steve if he would paint something for them.

“Mmhmm.” James answered as he slide his plate onto the coffee table and sat back to wrap an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “He was extremely happy about it.”

Sam laughed, pleased and leaned over to press a kiss to James’ scruffy cheek. “I bet.”

James sighed, a happy little sound and pulled Sam closer. From the playlist, the familiar strains of _At Last_ filled the air. The two of them listened quietly, James humming along under his breath and he stroked the curls at the base of Sam’s neck.

_And here we are in heaven._

_For you are mine at last._

As the last strains of the song ended, Sam realized his head had fallen on James’ shoulder. He felt no rush to get up, and laid his arm over the other man’s stomach.

“‘_One half of me is yours, the other half yours—‘_“ Sam murmured quietly, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. He felt James tense beneath him, and he tilted his head to look up into his eye, soft and wondering. “_‘Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours. And so all yours.’_”

And then James kissed him, and kissed him and didn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam did a Shakespeare ;___; his was from The Merchant of Venice.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed taking this journey with me!! I think this is one of my most purely romantic stories and I really enjoyed writing it. Not sure what I'll start next, but these two will be on my mind for a while yet.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!! Ya'll know comments and kudos are always loved!
> 
> Find me at [wilsonsnest](http://wilsonsnest.tumblr.com) for all your Sam Wilson loving needs.

**Author's Note:**

> SO. The plan is theoretically to update this with one chapter per day for the month of September. I have no clue how well that will go, but I'm going to try. Because of that, I won't have a lot of editing time, but I'll do my best!
> 
> Comments & Kudos always appreciated!


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